Soaring
by HoodedSpellcaster
Summary: Collection of one-shots written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.
1. Intro

" _We're soarin', flying_ _  
_ _There's not a_ _s_ _tar in heaven_ _  
_ _That we can't reach"_

A/N and Warnings: This collection features all one-shots I have written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition and the Daily Prophet Competition starting from Season 2. I play position Chaser 3 for the Montrose Magpies.

All stories in this collection have been previously posted either in my other collections or as one-shots. The original one-shots may by now be either removed, turned into multichapter fics, or they remain the way they are so that readers who are not familiar with the QLFC will be able to find them. This collection contains het, slash, and femslash, but no explicit sexual content. All stories in this collection are rated no higher than T. Some stories, especially the ones written during my first season, are not beta'd and the remaining grammar errors will stay. Lyrics in the beginning are from High School Musical.

Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable Harry Potter characters, song lyrics, movies, or poems featured in these stories.

* * *

 **TRACK LIST**

1\. Intro

 **Season 2.**

2\. Another First Date

3\. The Bowl Is Empty

4\. My Mother's Treasure

5\. To Have A Brother

6\. Mommy's Brave Boy

7\. Scarred Bones

8\. Savéracité

9\. High Heels

10\. Rust

11\. Friends Forever

12\. Love Happens

 **Season 3.**

13\. Not Just Another Flower

14\. For What Is Gained

15\. Catching Up

16\. Small Miracles

17\. Signs

18\. Shining, Shimmering

19\. A Barking Dog Doesn't Bite

20\. The Wolfsong Fills The Night

21\. Winter Wonderland

22\. Crossing Out Dreams and Wishes

23\. I Wish

24\. Magic Touch

25\. Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

26\. Child

27\. Family Remains Through Bottles of Whiskey and Talking Portraits

28\. I Cannot Go; Neither Would I Want To

29\. Madness Does _Not_ Exclude Love

30\. To Light Your Life

 **Season 4.**

31\. Pranksters, Bullies, and the Clique of Talentless Douche Nozzles

32\. Breakaway

33\. Astronomic Measures

34\. Girl on the Shore

35\. Love is in the Day's Eye

36\. Brother's Virtue

37\. For the Night is Ours to be Us

38\. And the Ministry will Fall

39\. For the Night is a Promise

40\. Another Mother Mine


	2. Another First Date

Name: Another First Date

Summary: Dirk Cresswell asks finally his dream girl on a date.

Season/Round: S2R5 – _Some Love for the Early Exiters_

A/N: My first one-shot written for the QLFC. I reserved one of the Magpie Chasers in a very short notice. To be honest, I'm actually very fond of this fic in particular, all grammar errors aside (I very rarely used a beta during my first season because I was too shy to ask for help). It was my first time writing about a Marauders Era character (a very minor and by now very dead character) and my first Quidditch League fic.

Characters: Dirk Cresswell, OC-Noelle Rowle, Thorfinn Rowle, OC-Kelly Keaton, others.

Prompt: Team's assigned character was Dirk Cresswell. Chosen scene was a first date.

* * *

 _Dirk 'Never going to get a date' Cresswell._

That was the name his dorm mates used before the sixth year and well yes, it was completely understandable and even Dirk found it acceptable because he was more than a little clumsy looking and in his opinion so scrawny it wasn't even fair. But the summer between the fifth and the sixth year changed the situation more than Dirk had ever believed it would.

Getting over a foot more height and weight with muscles during the past months was the last thing he had expected to happen even though he had hoped for it. He had exercised of course, what else would he have over summer in the muggle neighbourhood he lived in? He hadn't even noticed the change before trying on his school robes; the hem barely reached his ankles.

But after returning back to school in September he was soon officially known between his House mates as _Dirk 'Puberty gone right' Cresswell._

And he knew that finally, _finally_ , he may have a chance to get a date.

Dirk, after his first serious crush during the third year, had realized that being a not so attractive and muggleborn didn't really attract girls but now things were going to be different.

* * *

It was late autumn, around November, and Dirk stood outside the Great Hall. He had finished his dinner in a record time, surprising his house mates by gobbling up a full plateful in three minutes.

He shifted his weight from one leg to another and bit the inside of his cheek. He regretted eating so much so fast. The nervousness made him want to vomit it all out. But he wouldn't back down, not today, not anymore.

Today he would ask. Today he would finally ask his dream girl out on a date.

A group of girls exited the Hall and passes Dirk, not even sharing a glance. Dirk swallowed and tried to summon his courage as he half-determinedly and half-hopelessly followed the giggling girl group. It took a while to make the words come out from his mouth.

"Um, hi? Noelle?" His words came out squeakily.

The group halted and as one person they turned to look at Dirk; a whole scale of expressions appeared on their faces – surprise, disgust, confusion.

The girl who appeared to be their leader raised her brow. "Yes, Cresswell?"

Dirk's mouth gaped open. The girl was short even for a for a sixth year student, her form was petite and makes her appear as an angel who had fallen on the surface of the ground. She was pale, like made of porcelain, and her platinum blonde hair descended down her back in smooth curls. She had eyes like cloudless summer sky, so captivating that when you stare in those blue orbs you can actually feel like you're flying. Her slightly pouty lips were pale pink and often curled up into a sweet smile.

She was Noelle Rowle, and she was the girl any boy, with slight exception of James Potter and his obsession towards a certain fiery Gryffindor, at Hogwarts would want. She was smart, popular, and talented. She was a Ravenclaw's very own pure-blood princess.

She was Dirk's dream girl.

Dirk could feel his heart pounding so fast it felt like someone was playing a drum solo inside his ribcage. Noelle Rowle had actually answered him. It was like the great Wizard God gave Dirk finally a chance to charm her. Actually, if there was such thing as a Wizard God, he had given several opportunities to Dirk who had just been too shy to use them.

Noelle tilted her head and batted her eyes. " _Yes?_ " she presses.

Dirk scratched his head and avoided Noelle's gaze. "I was just wondering", he said and suddenly started finding the floor on his spot particularly fascinating. He was born to be brave! Don't blow this up now, his subconscious shrieked at him like a banshee. "I mean, it's a Hogsmeade weekend and I thought…" Dirk raised his eyes and gave an awkward smile. "Would you go out with me…?"

Noelle's lips curled slightly upwards. "Like… as in a date?" The other girls began heatedly whispering behind her back. One glance from Noelle and they silenced. She smiled at Dirk. "Just the two us?" she asked.

Dirk nodded slowly and Noelle beamed at him.

"Sure thing. Just pick me up from the Ravenclaw Tower by eleven."

It took a moment until what Noelle had said sunk in. "Yes!" Dirk exclaimed. "I mean, I will!"

When the girl group was out from his line of sight, he sighed dreamily. He was literally on the seventh heaven.

"I'm going on a date with Noelle Rowle."

He repeated it several times just to prove to himself his dream was actually coming true. The wide smile appeared on his face.

"I'm actually going out with her!"

What ever could go wrong?

* * *

Dirk was terrified.

He walked back and forth in the corridor before the Ravenclaw Tower and fumbled his striped scarf. He was wearing his better casual clothes; a pair of light blue bell-bottom jeans and a striking yellow blouse under a simple dark blue jacket and his House scarf.

"I can do this… I _can_ do this…"

"Hi, Cresswell."

Dirk boggled at being addressed so suddenly and turned around in slight panic. Noelle came alone out from the Ravenclaw common room. She was dressed in a blue and white polka dot skirt and a white turtleneck with a dark fur vest. She had tied her scarf around her neck and her blonde curls were tied on a low ponytail with a simple white bowtie.

She smiled sweetly. "You look good."

"Ah, hi. Noelle", Dirk said, smiling shyly back at her. "You too. I mean, you look beautiful and not just good and sweet Merlin this is…"

 _Embarrassing?_ His subconscious suggested with a smirk as Dirk turned beet red. He had promised to himself he would try his best to not turn into a stuttering mess in front of his crush. Noelle sniggered.

"Shall we go?" she asked, amused, and offered her hand.

Dirk hesitated but intertwined his fingers with Noelle's. "Yeah, right. Let's go."

The thin layer of snow covers the ground and the air was getting chilly as Dirk and Noelle strolled around the Hogsmeade. Dirk, still holding Noelle's hand, followed her through the High Street and into every shop and boutique she wanted to go. And Noelle was apparently determined to tour the whole Hogsmeade. But just looking at Noelle made Dirk's heart leap faster and he wouldn't have minded touring the whole Scotland for her.

Dirk who had never in his life actually been on a date tried his best to not show it. He wanted Noelle to have a good time with him. So they talked, mostly about Noelle and her friends. Few times the conversation wandered into Quidditch, school, upcoming seventh year NEWTs. Noelle frowned every time the conversation turned the way she didn't like and she immediately changed subject.

"Oh, Honeydukes!" she exclaimed happily and grabbed Dirk's hand. "Come!"

How could had Dirk said no when Noelle looked into his eyes her own bright blue orbs shining as she looked through the shop window? No, he definitely couldn't.

"Thank you, Mr. Flume", Dirk said politely when paying for the sugar quills, chocolate frogs and other treats he had bought for Noelle. Mr. Flume grinned widely, revealing his crooked teeth.

"A happy customer is a good customer", he said.

"Thank you so much, Cresswell", Noelle cooed and hugged Dirk's arm. "You're so sweet!"

Dirk's face heated up and when they stepped out the shop the cold air didn't bother him anymore. Asking Noelle out was probably his best decision ever.

* * *

The Honeydukes was just a beginning.

From McHavelock's Wizarding Headgear Dirk bought Noelle a new pair of ear muffs when she complained about the cold weather. Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop sold them several new quills and in Tomes and Scrolls Dirk bought Noelle a new divination textbook since some clumsy girl named Trelawney had borrowed hers and spilled tea on it.

Dirk did all that to see Noelle smile.

"Where do you want to go next?" Dirk asked with a smile. Even though his wallet was a lot lighter than in the morning he didn't regret going out with Noelle. He was living a dream come true.

"Madam Puddifoot's would be fine", Noelle said and pointed at the small teashop.

And that's where they went. The place was cramped as always, happy couples in the tables everywhere. They hadn't yet ordered anything since Madam Puddifoot herself where nowhere to be seen at the moment. Noelle sat on the other side of the small, round table, facing Dirk. She was being abnormally silent and she kept on glancing around the shop.

Dirk swallowed before moving his hand over Noelle's reassuringly. Perhaps she was just as nervous as he was?

"Is everything alright?"

Noelle raised her eyes and stared into Dirk's eyes but she didn't respond. And whatever Dirk saw in her eyes he most certainly couldn't place.

The door bell made a clinking sound and yet another Hogwarts student stepped into Madam Puddifoot's Teashop. He tramped straight to the table where Dirk and Noelle were sitting and without a further warning he placed his calloused hands on Noelle's shoulders.

Thorfinn Rowle was broad and bulky, a complete opposite of his sister. He, too, had blonde hair, but instead of long and curly it was short and sleek. He was a Beater in the Slytherin Quidditch team and that was probably the only thing he was found good at. That and beating other students.

"Noelle." His voice was plain and uninterested. "Let's go."

Noelle snatched her hand away from Dirk and stood up, gathering her belongings.

It took a while from Dirk to find his voice after he couldn't feel the warmth of the girl under his hand. He was starting to feel panicky when Noelle glanced at him.

"Noelle…? What's–?"

He felt so out of place, he felt… He wasn't sure what he felt. Noelle merely raised a brow.

"No hard feelings, Cresswell", she said and Thorfinn smirked behind her back. "You're just totally gullible and _naïve_." She spat the words out with such a venomous tone anyone would ponder why she hadn't got sorted into Slytherin like her brother. "Did you really think I would go on a date with a loser like you with no reason? Well think again."

Dirk couldn't say a word when Noelle walked away with Thorfinn. He slumped on his chair and held his head down, leaning on his elbows. Noelle acting like that towards him felt like having someone pulling the rag from under his feet or punching him right in his gut but worse. So many times worse it made him want to go die in a corner.

The feeling of his heart being broken into pieces by a girl he liked, by the girl he had dreamed about for two years. He had trusted her and believed she would like him back. Every single sweet word she had said had been nothing but for using him for her advantage.

Was he the first to fall for her? He doubted it. And he wasn't going to be the last.

"I saw what happened."

Dirk looked up. There was a girl, looking down at him sympathetically. She had freckled face and soft, fir green eyes. Her mousy hair was tied into two identical pigtails and her whole outfit highlighted her ordinariness – she was wearing a beige pullover, seemingly too big for her and a coal grey bell skirt which hid her knees.

She wasn't smiling. "May I?" She beckoned the stool Noelle had previously been using. Dirk just nodded and the girl sat down across from him. "Listen, I…"

"I'm not feeling very talkative right now", Dirk whispered. He didn't want to sound too rude but the last thing he wanted was to talk about anything. "So if you, umm…?"

"Kelly Keaton. Same year as you."

Dirk's subconscious slapped him on his face. He didn't even remember even the students from his own year through how miserable he was and… He blinked, looking intently at the girl. Kelly tilted her head, confused by Dirk's changed behaviour.

"You're that girl who got struck by a Pimple Hex!" Dirk finally exclaimed when noticing who he was actually talking to. Oh yes, Kelly Keaton. It seemed like he wasn't the only one whose puberty had gone right.

Kelly flushed deep red and looked down. "Yeah, that's me..."

"Oh, sorry." Dirk bit his lip, ashamed of reminding her of such a thing.

"No! No, it's nothing", Kelly reassured quickly. "I must have looked so horrible no one can really forget who I am", she joked half-heartedly. "Do you want to tell what happened with Noelle before Rowle came in? It could help."

And so Dirk poured his heart out for the half-blood Hufflepuff girl who he barely knew but who listened to him. After he finished there was a moment of silence when neither of them said a word.

"I think, you deserve someone better than Noelle Rowle", Kelly said at last. Her tone was serious but she wasn't looking at Dirk when she talked. "No one really does reserve her. I'm sorry she used you."

Dirk gave a hesitant smile. "Thanks."

Kelly smiled back at him. "Anytime."

"–and here comes the young couple's order", Madam Puddifoot said brightly, taking both of them by a surprise. She placed two small plates and teacups on the table. The cakes had pale pink frosting and chocolate hearts on top. Puddifoot smiled. "On your first date are you–?"

Dirk shook his head vigorously. "No, we're just –"

"Enjoy your tea!" Madam Puddifoot chirped, not listening at a single word Dirk was just saying. She was always right, even when she wasn't. That was the truth.

"She misunderstood us", Dirk mumbled, embarrassed as he was and hid his face by his hands. Kelly smiled faintly and poked her piece of cake with her spoon.

"Not that I would actually mind", she whispered. Dirk dropped his hands from his face and stared at the girl, dumbfounded. Kelly smiled. "Going on a date with you…"

Dirk blushed scarlet and looked at the smiling face of Kelly Keaton. Perhaps asking Noelle Rowle on a date was indeed the best decision of his life. And yes, maybe Kelly was nothing like Noelle. She was genuinely nice. She was pretty.

She was much more.

"Does this count as a date?" Dirk asked unsurely. Kelly looked at him, her eyes wide open. She wasn't sure had he heard him correctly but after one look at Dirk she knew she had.

"It does."


	3. The Bowl Is Empty

Name: The Bowl Is Empty

Summary: The letter is still on the edge of the fireplace. He never sent it. He couldn't. Lily Evans is dead.

Season/Round: S2R6 – _Letters, letters and more letters!_

A/N: I didn't officially participate in this round because I wasn't part of any team yet, but I wrote this just in case if the player I reserved last round goes AWOL again. By the QL standards (word count 950 words in S2, 1000 words in S3) this would've been too short but I liked the idea so I posted it anyway.

Characters: Horace Slughorn, Lily Evans

Chaser 3 Prompt: Write a letter to a teacher/student.

* * *

There is a letter on the edge of the fireplace. It's worn out for being read many times, the words written with green ink barely readable as they're smudged by fallen tears. It holds many feelings, the letter. There isn't a stamp on the corner of the letter. It was never sent, you see. But it was meant to a truly special student.

And though Horace Slughorn had never been good with writing letters, he had tried, after all.

* * *

 _12th November, 1981._

 _Dear Miss Lily Evans-Potter_

 _I've never been one to use words effectively, Lily, that's never been my cup of tea. But Dumbledore visited me and insisted I write this letter to you. He was very stubborn when I initially disagreed. He thought it would make me feel better. He's an eccentric man, that Dumbledore._

 _I wonder if these words, my words for you, can ever reach you up there but we'd give this letter a try, wouldn't we? Always believe in miracles._

 _When I first met you I couldn't believe you were a Muggleborn. A smart girl you were, a class of your own most certainly and such a joy to teach. When unleashed, your talent was without a doubt unequalled. I have committed into my memory every smile you shared when succeeding in my class. And that's a plenty of smiles to remember. You were a good person, Lily. A Gryffindor to the core, even though I would have been more than delighted to see you in green and silver. One of the brightest I ever taught. You were lovely, charming, witty, and positively genuine. I wasn't a least bit surprised when you at last became the Head Girl, with your grades it would have been a shock if you hadn't._

 _Your magic was exceptional and beautiful. I remember it like it was just yesterday, that day when you gave me Francis. It was spring afternoon, I remember it well, and I hope you would remember it, too. The warm breeze, the sun shining, all the good things. You had brought a bowl on my table, just a simple glass bowl with just few inches of water. And the petal, white it was, floating on the mirror like surface of the water._

 _And when it sunk slowly and transformed in front of my eyes just before reaching the bottom of the bowl, I couldn't take my eyes away from it anymore. Francis became my lucky charm, Lily, and it brought happiness to my doleful days. There were, if you must know, several of those, with bad things happening every day. No one was safe._

 _I never thought that from all people they would come after you but I knew what had happened the moment I saw the bowl empty. I knew you were gone._

 _Lily, you can't, no one can, believe how upset I was, how much grieving it caused to me, to hear what had happened to you and your family. You had deserved everything and you had gotten everything. And you had lost everything, all in a flash._

 _We lost you, Lily, and I'll never be willing to forget._

 _You'll always be one of my dearest, favourite students. There's no one I can ever compare to you, and I don't even want to._

 _"The most important thing in life is to see to it that you are never beaten." That quote was in a book, a muggle-made. It made me thought of you. Because you taught me that, Lily. Hopefully it will help me get through this pain losing you have brought to us._

 _The bowl might be empty but your memory lives._

 _It lives in the sunny evenings when the sky is shining in all the brilliant shades of red and gold over the treetops that chase the clouds._

 _It lives in the lilies in the fresh meadows that sway in the gentle wind._

 _It lives in all of us._

 _Always missing you,_

 _your Potions Master, Horace Slughorn_


	4. My Mother's Treasure

Name: My Mother's Treasure

Summary: The Grey Lady rarely speaks but her mind is never silent.

Season/Round: S2R7 – _Time for the Horcrux Hunt!_

A/N: My first official Quidditch League fic. I became the Chaser 3 of Montrose Magpies, replacing the player I had reserved during the fifth round. Personally I find this one a tad bit bland, even though I quite liked the round.

Characters: Helena Ravenclaw, Rowena Ravenclaw, Bloody Baron, others.

Chaser 3 Prompt: Ravenclaw's Diadem.

Optional Prompts:

8: (POV) first person present

12: (colour) magenta

14: (word) critters

* * *

 _Quiet critters,_

 _Quiet critters,_

 _Coming out, coming out_

 _They'll get scared if you talk_

 _so please focus on your work_

 _Quiet critters, quiet critters…_

* * *

Another year has passed. New first years, yes, look around. This will be your home for the next seven years. The Ravenclaw Tower, every corner of it, every wall, every painting – it will all be yours. It all was mine, too, but that was long ago. Don't look at me like that, child, look at _her_.

Look at the statue and who do you see?

I see that smile on your lips. You know the answer. Now say _it_.

" _Rowena Ravenclaw_."

Familiar with the name, aren't you? How couldn't you be? Every witch and warlock on the better side of the Magical Europe knows her. One of the four Founders of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

That tiara she's wearing. Did it spark your attention? That's the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw. You've probably heard of that as well.

Do you know about it? Do you know what happened to it? No, I didn't think so.

Only one will ever know.

And that one will be me.

* * *

Rowena Ravenclaw from the glens of Scotland was a very intelligent woman, truly beautiful and yet slightly intimidating. Those things can't be denied. She had everything a witch could ever ask for. Looks, wit, charm. But she didn't care about those things.

Rowena Ravenclaw was _my mother_ , and my mother cared about this very special little tiara of hers.

A _diadem_ , that's what she called it. It was beautiful and magical, such like its owner.

She had asked goblins to make it years before my birth. It was pure silver, a blue sapphire shaped like an oval latched on it. What made it special wasn't the carved text " _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure_ " in a beautiful cursive upon its surface but the _enchantment_ my mother had placed upon it.

She had enchanted the diadem, putting a complicated charm on the silvery object to make it increase its wearer's intelligence.

She never let anyone else to touch it, not to mention, _wear_ it. She kept her diadem of everyone's reach. It was her treasure.

Then there was me.

It was a lot of pressure. After all, I was taught by my mother and of course people were expecting a lot from the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw. Why wouldn't they be? She was the wisest of them all. I wanted to be just like her.

But I was just Helena. And they didn't find my effort enough.

It was always Rowena this and Rowena that and oh Helena why can't you be more like your mother Rowena?

I began to envy my mother and how she gained all the attention. And it didn't take long until I realized I could never be enough. Not like this. To be acknowledged I needed to be something more than my mother. More important, more envied, more intelligent. To be better than her.

At first I just played with the thought.

Played with it at the nights when I couldn't sleep.

Cherished it as I couldn't leave it alone and forget.

It kept me going forward, kept me making plans. Making plans of becoming the greatest, the most intelligent witch Hogwarts had ever seen. More intelligent than the precious Rowena Ravenclaw.

So one night when I couldn't sleep as the thoughts of surpassing my mother plagued me, I get up from my bed and descended from the Ravenclaw Tower to my mother's personal quarters. I watched my steps, I made no noise. I approached the serene, sleeping form of my mother and then…

Then I just took it.

I stole my mother's diadem from her head and run.

Out the castle, out the grounds, my knuckles turning white as I clenched my wand and the diadem in hands. And then I was gone. No more Hogwarts, no more anyone to tell me I wasn't good enough.

No more being only second rate.

I was free to change my fate.

* * *

After some time, I found myself from Albania, from the land of my father.

The life there was simple. No one knew me as Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter; I had no bounds, no one to hold me back. I wasn't caged in my mother's reputation. I settled down in a small village in the middle of nowhere where the sunset coloured the sky in the shades of red – crimson, scarlet, and magenta. So beautiful. The place had nothing to do with my past. Perhaps that was part of the reason why I was drawn to that place at the time being. I gained appreciation there. People loved me when I was just Helena.

But the time passed too quickly. Days turned into months, months into years. And suddenly, it didn't feel so good anymore.

During some days I felt overpowered by the guilt of stealing the diadem.

I wanted to return it. I truly wanted. I was planning going back to Hogwarts. But every time I wore the diadem, it told me to stay. It whispered things to me.

 _Why would you return to your old life of being never enough?_

 _What would they see other than your treacherous betrayal? No._

 _Stay here where you're loved for who you are._

 _You're intelligent, beautiful. They can see it, can't they?_

 _Unlike your mother..._

* * *

But then that cursed man appeared into my village. I was angered in seconds when I noticed him and I knew exactly who was behind his sudden appearing.

 _Rowena Ravenclaw._

Why had she sent him? Because she knew he wouldn't give up? Was that diadem really so important to her?

I was so confused but yet, I was determined about one thing:

I wasn't going to return it.

The diadem was _mine_!

So I left the village, went hiding into the woods. I should have known the Baron would find me anytime soon after all. He had seen me in the inn, our eyes had met for a moment, and I had noticed his feelings hadn't changed. Neither had mine.

"Helena."

I twitched at his tone, the way he called my name. I hid the diadem in a hollow tree and faced him. He was truly older than I remembered. He spoke to me softly, as always, asked me to return with him. I couldn't stand listening to him. I refused to return with him back to Scotland and back to Hogwarts where everything that would be waiting for me would be my mother's wrath and living in her shadow. I didn't want to get back to life like that.

The Baron was very persistent.

I refused him once.

I refused him twice.

Third time never came.

I should have remembered that some things never change. The Baron was indeed a very quick-tempered man. I should have remembered he had never accepted my refusals well. But I had never seen this would happen.

There was horrible pain in my chest and my eyes clenched shut. He had stabbed me. No magic, curses, spells. Just a knife and brute force.

I collapsed. I was bleeding. I was _dying_.

Wasting away.

I didn't want to die. There was still so much to accomplish. The diadem. I needed to get the diadem. I needed to…

I couldn't move anymore. I had no power over my body but I was still here, refusing to leave this world just like I had refused going back with the Baron.

And who could have known that was one of my most horrible mistakes.

* * *

I don't know what made me want to return to Hogwarts after... You know. Dying. Perhaps I had all along wanted to come back. I had just been too afraid.

I guess I had been just afraid that my mother would put the diadem ahead of me. That was it, the thing I had been afraid all along. It wasn't afraid that I wouldn't be enough like my mother, or that I wouldn't be intelligent, or creative.

I wasn't afraid of losing the diadem.

 _I was afraid of losing to the diadem_.

I understood that then.

And it was already too late.

My mother was no more. I heard she had fallen fatally ill after I had disappeared and she had died few weeks before my return.

"Your mother wanted nothing more than see you. Didn't the Baron tell you that?"

No, he didn't. Or perhaps he did. And I just didn't listen to him.

"She never told us why you left."

I stared at Godric Gryffindor, the only of the Four Founders who was there welcome me back. My mother… she hadn't told them about my betrayal? She hadn't told them I had taken her diadem. She hadn't… My spirit shattered because of that simple realization.

My mother had fell sick not because the diadem had disappeared but because I had.

My mother's treasure had been me all along.

And now my mother was dead because of me.

Because of me and my stupid disobedience and envy and fear.

I made a decision. There was no way I was ever going to tell anyone where I had left that cursed diadem that had broke the relationship between me and my mother.

It never did enhance its wearer's wisdom. It didn't make one intelligent. It didn't make anyone smarter. It would only bring destruction because no human being is capable to control the responsibility it brings.

It's not a treasure of any kind.

After all, life and love are.

And I had lost both.

But the sunsets were still beautiful.

 _Crimson, scarlet, and magenta._


	5. To Have A Brother

Name: To Have A Brother

Summary: Rabastan is not dependent of his brother but he doesn't deny that being close to Rodolphus has always brought him comfort and after all, his brother has always been there for him. Rabastan is remembering things during the torturing of the Longbottoms. /Alternative title: No One to Stop Us Now

Season/Round: S2R8 – _Kill 'em with Fluff_

A/N: My first Judges Picks Nomination. This was a very difficult round for me because I had, at the time, difficulties when it came to writing fluff. Slight Lestrangecest if you squint.

Characters: Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange, Barty Crouch Jr., others.

Chaser 3 Prompt: The Cruciatus Curse.

Optional Prompts:

3\. (song) Anywhere But Here by Drew Holcomb and The Neighbors

9\. (picture) preview/909-31-2650/Broken-Window

11\. (poem) The Poet to Death, by Sarojini Naidu

* * *

 _Tarry a while, O Death, I cannot die_

 _While yet my sweet life burgeons with its spring;_

 _Fair is my youth, and rich the echoing boughs_

 _Where dhadikulas sing._

* * *

It has always brought me comfort.

Having a brother.

The fact I always had my brother by my side when I needed him. Every time I needed him actually. I found it so natural that the abnormality of our close bond never crossed my mind.

Just like when we had been merely children of this pretentious family and I had got caught in the garden with grass stains in my better clothes. It had been embarrassing, tripping like that while there were guests over.

Rodolphus had stood up for me and held my hand when our Father scolded us before I had been sent into our room. He had got slapped. Or at least that's what he told me anyway later that night. I think he lied. He had been so exhausted I was sure Father had used _Unforgivable_ on him.

…

Just like when we had been at school – Rodolphus was a sixth year student, I was on my second year – and he had cursed the students who had bullied me and since he was older than them they had never had a change against him. A tall and burly Slytherin student with menacing eyes he had been then. And he never really changed from that.

He had held my hand in the Headmaster's office where we had been called after the staff found out he had been punishing, as he put it, the younger students. In my eyes he was so perfect and strong and what he did to them… It was right. He got detention for that time and they wrote a letter to our Father. He never brought up what Father had written back to him.

…

Just like when I had finally hit seventeen and followed Rodolphus to my very first Death Eater meeting albeit he had recommended me to stay behind. They had tattooed the Mark to my inner forearm and my throat was raw for all the screaming. Bella, my brother's fiancée, had laughed at my face and called me ridiculous brat.

Rodolphus hadn't sided with her. He had held his hand on my arm and sat by me until the pain lessened. He had got called too attached to me and accused for being too soft to be a follower of the Dark Lord for that but he had ignored them.

I was happy he had done that. He always meant the world to me.

* * *

The wind howls in from the cracked glass windows. I feel like a broken glass at moment actually. This isn't the first time I'm participating in a mission. But this time the Dark Lord hadn't send us. The Dark Lord had disappeared, and we are working on our own. The idea just isn't whole for me yet. It can crumble down any minute and I'll be a nervous wreck.

I hold the hand of my brother, my courageous older brother who has always been there for me. He's warm and steady and just him being here helps me to concentrate on the task in front of us. He knows, he has always known, what's up and I don't doubt him.

But as embarrassing it is, I'm tense, flushing bright pink, and clinging on him for support like always. Bella and Crouch are here, too, but neither of them pays attention on us. Rodolphus smiles his trademark lop-sided smile and reassuringly runs his thumb over the back of my hand. He doesn't mind that I'm clingy. He's used to it by now and it makes my life a little easier; I know he's not going to ever push me away.

I suppress my chuckles when he quizzically cocks his eyebrow at me. He hasn't shaved in months; he has been too busy while doing tracking missions. He has started to look like our Father, and I find it amusing. But Rodolphus is still better looking than him. I don't even hear the screams of the Aurors when I look at him and all good times coming to mind and making me feel all warm inside. The noises on the background come to my ears so faintly it's like gentle buzzing.

"It's going to be okay", Rodolphus whispers in his calm, baritone voice, mistaking my staring as a hesitation. "We're doing the right thing, Rabastan. For the Dark Lord, remember?"

I give a smile and a nod. Rodolphus is a simple man, a man of few words in both public and private. But he doesn't need to say more to make me understand. He and Bella have a plan, and I'm the one to follow it. I tighten my grip of his hand and for the first time in days the real, soft smile appears on his face. He encourages me with those simple gestures.

On the other side of the room Bella is overjoyed by the power she has. Her thrilled, mad cackling is the most booming voice and it fills the peaceful night. The cries of the Auror couple are barely audible anymore. Just gasps and whimpers, not even words anymore. And I smile as I see Rodolphus grinning a little.

I raise my wand and smile since when this is over…

" _Crucio…!_ "

…we can go back home together.

* * *

 _North to the lights to watch the snow fall_

 _East to the city we can see it all_

 _South to the ocean_

 _West to the mountains_

 _It doesn't matter where we go_

 _As long as we're together what we don't know_

 _Won't stop us now_

 _I'll take you anywhere but here_

* * *

And I hold Rodolphus' hand, already ready to apparate the hell out of here and just curl up on the couch with him. Bella is running like a madman on the chilly street while her lips are curled up into a wide grin like it's a Christmas morning. Barty follows us, more hesitant to join our spree, but I can see a slight smile on his face as well.

No one is there to stop us now.


	6. Mommy's Brave Boy

Name: Mommy's Brave Boy

Summary: Neville is brave.

Season/Round: S2R9– _A Captain, or Acting Captain's Love_

A/N: For this round our Captain picked each of us a different pairing/character. The character I was given was none other than Neville, and no matter how much I love the snake-slicing eye candy I had no idea what to write. After receiving help from a fellow Chaser, I managed to write this. Could've been worse.

Characters: Neville Longbottom, Augusta Longbottom, Alice Longbottom, others.

Chaser 3 Prompt: Focus on a necessity for your character/pairing.

Optional Prompts:

1\. (word) neighbour

9\. (word) present

15\. (word) join

* * *

"Oh, Neville. Not again."

Augusta Longbottom's voice dripped with disappointment. The grumbling sound she made was far from inaudible and Neville's ears turned red from embarrassment. His gaze was glued to the ground and he kept uncomfortably shifting his weight from one foot to another. He bit his lip; it was a nervous habit.

Augusta was a woman of strict rules and discipline. She appreciated when things went exactly like she wanted. And so, it wasn't much of a surprise that her grandson was continuously getting on her old nerves. Augusta rubbed her temples and this time held back her disgruntled groan.

When younger, Neville had never understood why his parents weren't around. He kept asking why his Mum wasn't at home though everybody kept on talking about her. Augusta had always muttered lowly how he would understand when he grows older.

It was never easy with Neville. He was a sweet boy, of course he was, and Augusta loved her dearly, but magic was never Neville's forte. It had taken eight years to get a magical reaction out of the boy – and even that time it had been forced out of him. Augusta had cursed Algie to Wales and back – neighbours probably hearing it all – but still, she had been somehow relieved. At least she hadn't been wasting her time with a squib.

"Just clean up these wrappers, Neville."

Neville gave a hesitant nod, not looking the old witch in the eyes. Augusta left Neville's room but from the corner of her eye she saw how her grandson picked up the wrappers from his bed and put them in a metallic box; one by one, like each of them was such a fragile, delicate object.

Augusta sighed. She had already raised one son and he had turned out just fine.

Neville instead was a completely different matter.

* * *

Neville loved his parents.

How couldn't he? Every child loves their parents, even if just unconsciously. But Neville's love was far from unconscious – he adored his parents.

When six years old, Neville had finally understood why his parents didn't recognize him anymore; why they hadn't actually recognized him at all actually. It had hit him hard. How could it be that his brave parents had been destined with such a fate?

Each time Neville made sure to bring _Drooble's Best Blowing Gum_ and other sweets to his mother to enjoy as a present when he visited them at St Mungo's Hospital with Augusta. And each visit took courage to face the hard reality; there was no change for his parents to actually be there for him. They still wouldn't know who he was and how much he loved them.

But in the end, it didn't matter.

Alice had a strange fascination towards the bubblegum. Neville watched as she slowly chewed a piece. She looked almost like she truly enjoyed it. And in the end of each visit Neville would receive a gift from his mother. Alice grabbed his sleeve; thin, fragile fingers brushing the back of his hand. She looked at Neville expectantly and Neville stretched out his hand. She placed a smoothed gum wrapper into Neville's offered hand and patted it couple times.

"Thanks, Mum", Neville said gently and smiled at the shadow of a woman that Alice was.

But she was still there. She had been brave and so she wasn't dead. She was there, in front of Neville, though unable to recognise him as her son.

There was the tiniest hint of a smile flickering in Alice's eyes before she went back to her bed, sitting on the edge of it, looking blankly at the white wall and humming softly a tune Neville remembered. It was a lullaby. Familiar and beautiful in his ears.

Neville's smile lingered on his lips a little longer than necessary.

* * *

"Gran?!"

Neville's cry echoed in the battlefield as he noticed that Augusta had appeared on his side and was about to join the duel.

"Couldn't let my favourite grandson to get his bum kicked!" Augusta snorted and Neville laughed shortly at that when Augusta fired a spell towards the Death Eater Neville was duelling, making the man flew backwards.

"You can't seriously think that I–" A loud explosion came out from the castle and Neville turned automatically towards the sound. "Luna–!"

The name had left his lips before he could snap his jaw closed. He cut himself off and bit his lower lip as he nervously glanced at the fierce duelling not so far away from himself. He was unsure of what to do, what he _wanted_ to do. But this was war. The present time was a chaos. He shouldn't hesitate at the moment like that.

Augusta swatted his already injured arm, making him flinch at the sudden touch.

"Go get your girl", the old witch said in a commanding tone but the small, gentle smile curling her lips gave her away. Neville nodded at that and was already sprinting to the heart of the battle that was going on in the castle when Augusta's words made him stop dead on his tracks.

"And Neville", she said. "…I'm truly proud of you"

Neville smiled softly, and he mouthed the simple words: "Thank you."

Augusta smirked, her earlier softness gone as she draw her wand and headed to the opposite direction of her grand-son. "Now let's show them what Longbottoms are made of!"

* * *

Neville was like his mother in so many ways.

Gentle. Thoughtful. Passionate.

Though Alice had never taught Neville – she hadn't been there to be a mother to him; to listen carefully to all the things Neville would have wanted to tell her, to see all the things he would have wanted to snow her, to give him advice only mother could – her son had inherited what she valued the most.

He was _brave._


	7. Scarred Bones

Name: Scarred Bones

Summary: The Ministry don't go down because of a death of a civil.

Season/Round: S2R10 – _Crashing the Ministry_

A/N: To be honest, I just wanted to write something sad and angsty and get over with a round I had problems with. What I ended up with was another Judges Picks Nomination and a new ship sailing on the ocean of my tears. Sue me.

Characters: Rufus Scrimgeour, Amelia Bones, others.

Chaser 3 Prompt: Wizengamot (Law Enforcement)

Optional Prompts:

2\. (word) tickled

9\. (word) chemistry

13\. (poem) A Divine Image by William Blake

* * *

Summer is supposed to be full of laughter and joy. Bright days should be a blessing before a long and rainy autumn. It should be like a safe blanket around shoulders when the storm rages on behind the thin walls. Like hot chocolate and marshmallows in a cold evening or like seeing a friend after a long time and know that nothing has changed between you.

But life isn't fair neither you are a muggle or a wizard.

There isn't warmth, love, and joy. There are dark clouds glooming in the horizon; the disaster that is just waiting to happen, wanting to break through the veil of false security. There is an empty void. There is an unfulfilled promise and a broken heart.

 _Cruelty has a Human Heart_

 _And Jealousy a Human Face_

 _Terror the Human Form Divine_

 _And Secrecy, the Human Dress_

And there's no one to pick up the pieces.

* * *

The news had reached the Department of Magical Law Enforcement early in the morning. It had been just a passing mention, nothing major or detailed, but the corridors you know all too well have fallen in uncomfortable silence. The silence is too oppressive, it's too graceless. It holds the fact you know that it was _expected._

The members of Wizengamot had given their sympathies to you. It's all what they can give anyway. There won't be a trial. No punishments. No sending anyone to Azkaban for a murder. That's something they can't do. What _you_ can't do. Not in this situation, no matter how much you would want to. How much you would _need_ to. You had personally sent a letter to the relatives. No sweet, comforting words. That would hurt more than the mere acceptance. It had been just a simple reminder that you knew her too.

There isn't a limit for how much pain one family has to take.

The door to the office where the usual hearings were held isn't locked. It makes your breath hitch when you step over the threshold. When she's not there it feels like crossing a line and entering the enemy territory. The office that has once been spacious and warm, always holding the hospitable atmosphere, has turned into something empty and distressing. Like an abyss of loneliness and deep sorrow even though her presence still lingers in the room.

The office hasn't been used in a while. That hasn't been enough time for the dust to descend and cover the surfaces but it's still there; waiting for the room to adjust to the fact it won't be used by the same person anymore. That it will soon be taken over by someone else. The new Head of the Department has already been named but he hasn't moved in yet. You even hope he won't claim the office to himself.

The desk in the end of the room is in neat order and you stop in front of it. Everything is on its place but the harmony of the room is disturbed. The atmosphere is off. There is nothing personal. No photographs of friends or family. The room is suddenly colder than a minute ago. There is a pile of folders on the desk. You don't bother to look though them. On the top of the pile reports is a resignation. It's signed in dark green ink; the name is written in an ingenuous, artless cursive.

 _Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

The Ex-Head of the Department, you think bitterly and grit your teeth.

She shouldn't have left the Ministry. You shouldn't have let her leave. You knew it was a bad decision from the moment she had voiced her opinion. The thought had tickled you with its freezing fingers, sending shivers down your spine. You knew something was going to happen to her if she was to leave and you didn't even try to stop her. It was her decision.

There is a knock on the door; a secretary brings you back to earth. "Sir." His tone is quiet, cautious even, when he stops few feet away from you. "The trial is about to start. The Wizengamot requires your attendance at the Level 10. The courtroom is…"

You say nothing. You don't even look at the secretary or even listen to him. He is young and inexperienced and barely knows in whose room he's standing. It angers you that he doesn't know. You know you're being stubborn. The Ministry don't go down because of a death of a civil, you know that. You have to move forward but it's a way harder than you expected.

"Sir…?" The secretary is getting impatient. You tighten your tie and finally pay attention on the man who's slowly turning into a nervous wreck. You hold back your tongue and try not to frown.

"…I'll be there in a minute."

The secretary nods and excuses himself and you're left at peace. You want to spend a little longer moment in the office. You race your fingers on the surface of the table and take a deep breath. Feelings are more complicated than simple chemistry. They aren't just nerve impulses and bodily reactions. They hold meaning. They are able break you down or raise you up. You close the door and head to the elevator without looking back. You can't break down because of that damned woman who left you to handle this alone. That damned woman you had the most feelings for.

 _The Human Dress, is forged Iron_

 _The Human Form, a fiery Forge._

 _The Human Face, a Furnace seal'd_

 _The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge._

But what keeps you going is that she went down fighting.


	8. Savéracité

Name: Savéracité

Summary: The Plague hovered in the background of the everyday life. The street rat Iomhar makes the best mistake of her life when she finds her sanctuary from the company of Christiana, the witch. The disease strikes Iomhar in 1380. Can Christiana keep her from falling to her death?

Season/Round: S2R11 – _All Through The Years_

Score: 9/10

A/N: Even though getting an idea for this round was so hard, this is still one of entries I'm the most proud of. It's long, it's femslash (I had never written femslash before), it has no canon characters, and it got a JP Nomination which I didn't expect at all.

Characters: OC-Iomhar, OC-Christiana, others.

Team Prompt: Year 1380

Chaser 3 Prompt: Write about a day someone divorces or dies.

Optional Prompts:

2\. (word) crimson

3\. (poem) Indeed Indeed I Cannot Tell, Henry David Thoreau

11\. (restriction) no word "said"

* * *

' _Indeed indeed, I cannot tell,_

 _Though I ponder on it well,_

 _Which were easier to state,_

 _All my love or all my hate.'_

– from the poem 'Indeed Indeed I Cannot Tell' by Henry David Thoreau

* * *

" _If I'd known it'd be this hellish, I'd have never chosen this life…"_

* * *

The city was made of dead ends.

I sat down on the cobbled street, holding tightly the piece of bread I had managed to obtain earlier. It hadn't been easy. It's _never_ easy. But it fills stomach for a moment and that should be enough.

"Tch. Not even freshly baked."

But it's never enough. The hunger always returns. I scoffed down the bread, almost choking on it and spewing it out in the process. I had let the hunger overpower me once again. I grimaced, ashamed, and my brows knitted together, my lower lip jutting out. The aftertaste wasn't something I liked. But it reminded me of my sorry state. If I had now thrown up, I would have been even hungrier a moment after.

Born was I into the lowest class of peasants, ranked down on the social ladder. I laughed dryly, letting the back of my head hit the wall behind me.

Beggars can't be choosers.

At least I hadn't gotten caught.

How do people even live through the times like this? Why don't we just die away? I glanced up; the sun was still high on the sky. Time flows, that's what I've been told. People die every day but the sun still shines and time passes on. We have no control over those things; only God has. I was sick from time to time, scared that I'll die in my sleep, afraid I won't live to see the next morning. Pathetically clinging on this hellish life.

I reluctantly recalled my mother. Not her face or anything like that. Just a glimpse of my childhood. I didn't really like thinking about my past. Here you live only to see the next day. Everything else is unconventional. I had even stopped counting the years of my age a long ago. Years come in a blur, there's no reason to count them. I looked at my hands and smirked. Too big and calloused for a girl to have. For some reason I couldn't have been born with small hands and effeminate looks like Mary from the pub. Even my mother had had small hands.

She was dead by now, I couldn't remember why exactly. If I think about it must have been some illness; I heard men on the street speak about it. About the disease God had sent upon us. Maybe she had sinned then.

After all, she had had a daughter like me.

I clenched my fists, knuckles slowly turning white. My breathing was getting ragged, I shouldn't be thinking this. I hated this feeling; feeling of not being in control, feeling of breaking under the invisible pressure. I shielded my hands in terror. This wasn't regular but it wasn't anything new either. It just was a sign that God truly hated me.

With these hands I was able to make things happen.

Weird things.

 _Dangerous_ things.

I blinked back the tears, gasping for air. Mother's death wasn't because of me. I just had been born different. I wasn't an abomination. I just had been born different. I wasn't an abomination…

I vomited all over the cobble stones.

* * *

I liked the time of the year when leaves fell down. I liked the rain, and the warm colours, and more than anything I was looking forward to harvesting. Harvesting meant more to eat. I rarely went outside the city as there is nothing but fields, forests, and never ending roads. 'If you can't eat it, don't bother to get it', that's what I thought until I saw them.

The apple trees.

The branches were weighed down by the gorgeous, full red fruits. I swallowed the drool forming in my mouth and my stomach made a gurgling sound, strengthening the idea in my mind. And I knew it was a bad idea to begin with. But I couldn't resist. I climbed over the tile wall surrounding the garden and the house.

The sweet taste filled my mouth as I bit down on the apple I had picked straight from the tree. I didn't even remember how good they could be. So I ate one.

And another.

And one more.

I didn't even think the consequences of getting caught. I knew there wouldn't be a fair trial. The people of the Town Hall weren't especially tolerable when it came to beggars, street rats, and thieves. And I happened to fit in all of the three categories.

"Hey, you!"

Oh, for the love of God and sweet baby Jesus I was in a deep, deep trouble.

* * *

The weirdly dressed man – with a pointed hat and a red and purple mottled robe he couldn't be called anything else than weirdly dressed – had forcibly taken me inside the house. I had been too afraid to scream or oppose him. I was sure it would be the end of me.

A life worth for three apples.

But it turned out to be a very different situation, and not a life and death situation at all. Not immediately at least.

I traced the surface of the water with my fingers. The water in the tub was still warm. It was… exciting. I stripped my worn clothes on the floor and cautiously stepped in. The water smelled good. Flowery and sweet. It was relaxing, dwelling on the water but the knock from the door startled me.

"The mistress wants to meet you."

The new clothes were left on the stair and they expected me to wear them. It made me uncomfortable. I was soon wearing the fanciest clothes I had ever seen, and it wasn't an exaggeration. I had never seen, not to mention touched, a fabric like the one that had been used for the dress. The finest silk covered up my spindly, gaunt body, and hid the bones that were sticking out in a disgusting manner. I wasn't proud of my appearance, not even in these borrowed clothes

There was another knock and the man who had half-forced me to the house stood there, as weirdly dressed as earlier. He walked me through the corridors and brought me to the door, not emitting a word. He raised a brow quizzically when I stared at the door.

The truth was that I was scared to enter.

And face the mistress.

* * *

I had met mistresses before on the street, passing me like I'm nothing but the filth on the bottom of their shoes. It wasn't very far away from the reality.

But in the back of the room – near the window, basking in the glow of the evening sun – sat an angel. She wasn't looking at me but I was certainly, blatantly, _staring_ at her. Blonde hair, long and shiny, fell on her tiny shoulders. Her dress was fancier than the one I was wearing; it was leaf-green coloured and adored the curves of her petite body.

I shifted and the floorboard creaked underneath and she flinched before turning her eyes away from the window. The shock, the surprise, in her face vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Her eyes, beautiful and vivid blue eyes, shone on a pretty face. Her skin was pale as porcelain, apart from her cheeks which were flushed pink.

I forced my gaping mouth to shut. She sat up and I got the first look of how short she actually was. I was pinned to the spot where I was standing. Her lips curled into a sweet smile and she opened her mouth.

"Nice to meet _you_."

The voice that came from her mouth was like no other sound I had heard. It was hard to describe – it was bright and timid at the same time, like the first rays of morning sun. She looked at me, dead in the eye, and it was suddenly difficult to breath.

She was _different_.

Her beauty wasn't part of this world; it was a cover-up, a façade. And I saw right through it, straight to the core. Her angelic look didn't match with what I saw. What I saw was fear. What I saw was _myself_.

Graciously she lifted her both hands, placing them on my cheeks. Her touch was tender, hesitant even. My mouth was dry and swallowing didn't help at all. It took all my willpower to shake her hands away and clumsily retreat to the door.

It was locked. I hadn't _locked_ it.

"What are you…?" I barely managed to stutter the words out.

Her smile was inevitable to avoid looking at but it wasn't like the smile I had seen on her face earlier. It didn't reach her eyes. She had pulled a crooked stick from the pleat of her dress. She held it tight, an unreadable eyes staring up at me.

"I am a witch."

I stared back at her. I had heard that word, and it didn't mean anything good. It made me want to run, to hide, and to be far away from her. But my knees were weak and gave up under me, making me collapse on my hands and knees. I didn't want to lose the lunch I had earlier devoured though my stomach was atrociously knotting itself up. She kneeled down a pitying look in her eyes.

"And I know you're like me. I can help you."

She ran her fingers through my hair. It was intimidating yet very distracting. And though I wouldn't want to admit it, the act was oddly soothing.

"I just want you to promise you'll never leave."

I opened my mouth to object but nothing came out.

"Promise me", she pressed, almost begging. "You'll never feel hunger again. No more living on the streets. So please…"

* * *

I had started counting years again. I had now counted for three years. Christiana, the mistress of the house, thinks I'm at least on my late twenties or early thirties. She is much older but the façade of young girl she likes is always covering her real age. She claims she's older than the men of the church. I find it hard to believe.

The first year had been the worst; all the shouting and arguments between me and Christiana. I had hated her and everything she did. It had taken me long enough to start trusting her and believing her comforting words whenever I broke under the pressure. I don't break because of God, she told me. I break because I had neglected my powers, my _magic_ , for a long time. She called them a gift but I despised them.

But she could make so beautiful things happen with her magic.

She explained things the way I could understand. She gave me a stick, a _wand_ , of my own. It's made of wood of an apple tree, that she told but I can't tell for sure. A wand made controlling powers easier and I didn't break down as often as I had done earlier. My powers didn't make me feel so sick anymore because she helped me to free them and not to conceal them like I had been used to do.

"Those who meddle with magic without understanding the harm they can cause are worse than those who don't understand it at all." Her voice was soft. "You need to learn."

It was better life than the one I'd been living most of my life. And somehow, it wasn't anymore just that she helped me but I had begun helping her as well.

 _Healing_ her, as she had it expressed.

"Iomhar." She tenderly kissed my bony shoulders, her petite hands running through my coarse dark hair. "I love them. Your freckles."

I hummed, holding my hands on her waist, my thumbs drawing circles on her soft skin. I should have found what we did appalling, disturbing at least, and very wrong. It was sinning against God, we would be severely punished if we ever got caught, but I couldn't bring myself to stop and run away. My life had been drawn in Hell pictures all along. If I for once in my life was glad, had anyone a right to take my happiness away from me?

I was drawn to Christiana.

To her skin, to her touch, and to her magic.

I was drawn to only person who cared about me for who I was. For her I wasn't abomination.

And I loved her.

* * *

I coughed. The crimson blood droplets stained the handkerchief I had gotten from Christiana. Where the illness had come from I didn't know. There were others in the city with the same symptoms, so I had heard. And it will only get worse.

It had something to with my lungs. The breathing had become painful, my throat tight and chest heavy. Soon I hadn't the strength to get up from my bed anymore. My coughing fits were painful for me but they also took great toll on Christiana even though the disease hadn't gotten her. She didn't want to show her worry but it shone through her act. Her beautiful blonde hair was greying and falling limply on her shoulders.

She didn't smile anymore. She did her best; she collected herbs and plants and made them into different liquids and made me either sniff or drink them. Nothing had helped.

I hated like seeing her like that; helpless to do anything. It hurt more than raw throat after screaming and vomiting blood.

After three days of lying in the bed I couldn't even hold my wand anymore. I let out a dry chuckle and made my chest tighten. I was stripped of my wand, stripped of my pride. Christiana rarely left from the room expect to get more of the potions she had made to make me feel better. She had managed to make something to dull the most of the pain but the disease was there to stay.

I was hardly conscious when she stroked my cheek, her fingers running on my freckles. I didn't even like my freckles but she did. She loved them. She loved _me_.

I smiled a little. These three years had been a blessing.

* * *

" _I lied… Living like that wasn't too bad…"_

* * *

Christiana shook her head, looking at the covered body of a young witch. Her eyes were dulled by sadness, red-trimmed by crying overnight. She was still holding the now cold hand,unwilling – _unable_ – to let go. Her laughter was no longer a bright and cheerful sound it had once been.

"Remember that time you promised you'd never leave, then left?"

She tightened her grip of Iomhar's hand and tears began slowly streaming from her eyes. She swallowed and dried them off with her free hand.

"It'd be nice if I could come with…"

Her sentence was cut down by a coughing fit. The crimson droplets coloured her palm, spreading all over it and dripping to her lap.

And in all veracity she smiled as well.

* * *

A/N: Sa véracité is French and means in veracity; truthfulness.

'The Black Death' happened between the years 1347-1352. Iomhar was around 30 (maybe even 35) years in 1380. Christiana was most likely born in the beginning of the 14th century to an old magical family and she attended Hogwarts in her youth unlike Iomhar who was clearly from a muggle family and didn't know about Hogwarts. Iomhar is actually an old Scottish (and Irish) name. They both died because of the Pneumonic plague.

Homosexual relationships weren't a new thing in the 14th century. There was even a Wikipedia article about 'Homosexuality in medieval Europe'.

The main characters are based on Ymir and Christa Lenz/Historia Reiss in anime and manga series Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin.


	9. High Heels

Name: High Heels

Summary: AU. Based on the classic fairytale 'The Red Shoes'.

Season/Round: S2R12 – _Fairytale Dabbling_

A/N: Before this round I had never even heard of 'The Red Shoes', and I greatly disappointed myself with this fic, but I guess that after 'Savéracité' it was only natural. My first and only no-magic AU during the second season, and my least favourite QL entry.

Characters: Pansy Parkinson, Fenrir Greyback, others.

Chaser 3 Prompt: The Red Shoes, by Hans Christian Andersen

Optional Prompts:

3\. (poem) The Crazy Woman, by Gwendolyn Brooks

11\. (word) underhanded

15\. (quote) "God doesn't need to punish us. He just grants us a long enough life to punish ourselves." Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible

* * *

 _"That is the Crazy Woman_

 _Who would not sing in May."_

She grew up in the big circles, surrounded by important people. Rich people in their prestige mansions, people knowing their place on the top of the food chain, hefty sums of money going around underhanded. Hushed voices in public – who has the right contacts, whose business prospers in the moment of adversity, to sell or not to sell?

 _Malfoy. Zabini. Nott. Goyle. Greengrass._

Wealthy, capricious families, slithering around, using their assets the ways they found profitable, the ways that will bring them even more money. Money is what matters.

It's the green; it's the green what makes the world go round.

But the red is the colour of a woman.

She might have had everything handed to her on a silver platter that's true enough. She had such a wonderful, easy life. But there was no challenge so she decided to try something different. She was a crazy woman in a way; she left the safety of her home and friends and found a life very unlike from the life she had lived till then. And her new life, oh it was exciting, delicious in a way she hadn't thought it would be. It made the adrenaline rush in her veins. It was addicting like a drug.

She was a woman whose short skirts never fall under her knees. Her full, curled lips were coloured with lipstick, always _Red Velvet_. How her hips swung, how the red stilettos she wore made a clicking sound with every step she took, and how she gave those knowing, little smiles. She was attracting and she knew it. She was a hunter. Her cat-like eyes scanned the crowds as she was looking for a prey. And she knew the right groups; she knew which ones were willing to pay the price. She knew the desperate ones when she saw them, and they knew where to find her. They were drawn to her like moths are to a flame.

They knew her as a woman in red shoes.

But they called her _Pansy_.

No one who knew her bothered to question was that her real name or not. After all, it wasn't her name that mattered to them. It didn't matter to her either.

She couldn't stop. She loved their hands on her – how their fingers grazing her thighs and left faint bruises on her hips. How the words they grunted in her ears in the moment of heat sounded so promising she couldn't stop her little habit. She had never had trouble getting what she wanted and she liked it that way, and no matter what people thought about her she walked down the street, holding her head up high, a red scarf covering the love bites on her neck.

She loved the weight of their dirty money in her Louis Vuitton purse.

She had never put her love out on the line but that time came too.

There was this one man who has gained her attention. She always saw him often on the streets, walking around as he owned it, wearing the fur collared jacket of his. He belonged to the same group as her varied acquaintances and so she waited for him to come to her.

He never did but the connection, the hunger, between them was there. The occasional, lingering stares did nothing to hide it. It was magnetizing and so she waited. She waited all the days of the month, and then the days of another, and one more. And the man stayed on his side of the street. He was there, letting her wait for the time when he would come and claim her. Except for the only one day in the each month when he disappeared from the streets completely just to return next day. She wanted to know where he was during those nights. Maybe he had a lover somewhere?

She shook the bitter thought away. It wouldn't be fair. The man had a business of his own, just she like had, and she knew his money was the dirtiest of them all but she wasn't after cash and cheques when it came to him.

She had fallen for him.

And so in a moonlit night, the night she knew he would disappear, she approached the man herself. The man studied her with his eyes and suddenly she felt more naked than ever before. What if he wouldn't want her? What if she wasn't good enough in his eyes? But the man didn't know about those insecurities. He just pulled her deeper in the secluded alleyway.

"I knew you would come here." His voice was low and husky when he whispered into her ear. "You know, a girl like you shouldn't be doing what you're doing now. But I can save you now."

She didn't comprehend his words, and neither was she prepared what was to come. She wasn't prepared to the force of the sudden kiss; such an abuse it was to her poor lips as the man bit hard on her lower lip, drawing blood as he broke the kiss. She was intoxicated and out of breath and by the time the oxygen was returning to her lungs he had already engaged her into another, deeper one. It wasn't a least bit gentler than the first one had been but she accepted it nevertheless, responding to it from the bottom of her heart.

His eyes were dilated, open like the dark blue sky over the streetlights and roofs of the buildings, and when he made an eye contact with her she looked at him like she had never looked before. She was now his and she wouldn't have a word to in that anymore. He grazed her neck with his sharp edged teeth before letting them sink on her shoulder. She cried out in pain and pleasure as the claws tore through her jacket and her dress, leaving red marks on her back. Her breathing came out in shallow puffs of air. She had cried her throat raw, hot tears streaming down her rouged cheeks. She can feel herself breaking under his touch – her joints leaving their original spots, knees giving out under the animalistic, savage power.

She lay on the street. The blood oozed from her the deep gashes and bite marks on her body; she could taste it her mouth, she could feel it pouring from her neck, making the fabric glue to her back and shoulders, trickling down her thighs. She didn't – _couldn't_ – move an inch. She was numbed by the pain, her mind was hazy, and the noise of distant traffic buzzing in her ears. It sounded so bright, so loud. She searched for the man's gaze. The man kneeled down next to her and tenderly let his hand ran through the mess of a hair she had.

He stroked her cheek. "God doesn't need to punish us. He just grants us a long enough life to punish ourselves. But sometimes all that time isn't enough. I've granted you your freedom."

The man's retreating back as he carried away a pair of red shoes was the last thing she saw before the darkness swallowed her whole.

Red is brilliant. It's passionate and strong. It's relentless.

Red is the ruling colour of the scene.

The officer wrinkles his nose. It's obscene. In a pool of blood lays a body that once could have been identified as a young woman. Her limbs are outstretched in unnatural positions; distorted and broken, like a marionette with no strings. The liquid is sprawling on the asphalt, staining the street with its redness. It glows eerily in the sallow light of the lampposts.

Dishevelled hair, messed lipstick, torn clothes. She must have been in pain, the officer muses. But she wears a serene expression with no sign of the pain she has gone through.

She looks like an angel.

" _I shall not sing a May song._

 _A May song should be gay._

 _I'll wait until November_

 _And sing a song of gray."_

And there is no sign of the red stilettos.


	10. Rust

Name: Rust

Summary: "To see love coming and see love depart." Barty Jr. x Regulus / Potions tutoring, muggle fairs, a crush and a change of heart.

Season/Round: S2R13 – _Spreading the love_

A/N: This is one of absolute favourites! I wrote it when I was visiting my family and so I had to use my little sister's computer. She didn't have Word or any other writing system on it so I had use my e-mail to write this down. I had no idea of what my word count was, the system didn't point out blatant mistakes, and on the top of all that I was sick. I love Barty/Reg about as much as I love Barty/Neville and I loved writing this. Judges Picks Nomination was a great way to end the regular rounds.

Characters: Barty Crouch Jr., Regulus Black, others.

Chaser 3 Prompt:

Optional Prompts:

6\. (word) gruesome

7\. (quote)"Life is life, fight for it." – Mother Teresa

13\. (poem) Love, What is Love by Robert Louis Stevenson

* * *

 _"Love - what is love? A great and aching heart;_

 _Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair."_

* * *

Barty slouched forward, his shoulders hunched and the slush soaking his socks and shoes. It was the end of December, wet and cold and disgusting. The sound of his own feet on the wet snow was getting on his nerves and so was the silence between him and Regulus. The shorter man walked before him, seemingly unaffected by the current weather conditions. Barty huffed and buried his nose on the dark green muffler. He didn't even get started on Regulus Black. The man was so damn secretive and straight-faced sometimes that it was irritating as hell. It didn't mean he didn't like Regulus, though. It was the complete opposite actually. And it made everything more awkward.

* * *

Everything had started in the very beginning of the school year. Professor Slughorn had told him the unembellished truth downright after the first week. Barty was failing in Potions right after he had barely managed to get through the cursed subject in his OWLs last year. With luck, he could have added when standing in front of the Potions master but he kept his mouth shut. Why Slughorn had let him continue the subject was a completely another matter.

"I know your father and I have kept in touch. He had an Outstanding in Potions", Slughorn had said, fondling his mustache thoughtfully. "Maybe we could get someone to tutor you? To see if there's no need to mention these little incidents in the class..."

Without even rolling his eyes Barty had agreed to that; there was no way letting his Father know about the bad grades if there was even the smallest of chances to keep him completely oblivious. Not that Crouch Sr. would care anyway. Not very much at least. The old man Crouch was too busy being important to care about his son's grades.

And that had been the moment when Regulus Black had stepped into Barty's life.

They had been on the same year all the time but being sorted into different Houses had kept the communication between two in minimum. Not that Barty would have wanted to have anything to do with Regulus Black anyway. And the tutoring didn't actually make him change his opinion.

"I wouldn't choose butterbur for this draught."

"The book says need to crush it, not cut it."

"Three stirs clockwise and one anti-clockwise, not two times."

"It should be carmine red. This is turning purple. What did you put in here?"

Blah-blah-blah. Potions had never been Barty's favourite class but now he was getting closer to the point when he could declare he hated it. Regulus had made it sound he didn't know bladderwrack from monkshood. Maybe, if he was lucky enough, Slughorn could choose him another tutor. Someone who didn't make him sound like a bloody idiot. Based on the number of Gryffindor's coming from the dungeons old Slughorn had ended the lesson early. It had meant there was almost a half an hour till the next class. Barty had stopped outside the Professor Slughorn's office to knock but he had stopped abruptly to listen the conversation on the other side of the door.

"Is he... making any progress?"

Barty had pricked up his ears to hear who Slughorn was talking to. The voice he had heard made him crinkle his nose.

"Crouch? I wouldn't call it progress", Regulus had drawled and Barty had been sure he heard Professor Slughorn sigh in disappointment. "Because", Regulus had then continued. "he already has it in him. He has a lot of potential and a great intuition when it comes to alternating the ingredients, usually for the better. He doesn't really need to make progress, not in the way you put it."

Barty hadn't been able to believe his ears. Was Black praising him to the professor?

"But Regulus", Slughorn had huffed. "In the class he has shown no sign-"

"Polyjuice Potion."

"Excuse me?"

"I believe", Regulus had said firmly. "that Crouch is fully capable to brew a perfect Polyjuice Potion. Give him a month."

Slughorn had coughed nervously. "Brewing Polyjuice Potion is very advanced potion making, Regulus, and it's not something included in the sixth year curriculum, I don't think he-"

"With all due respect, Professor", Regulus had said in a pleasant tone, though in the ears of Barty it had sounded like the younger of the Black brothers had been compelling rather than persuading the professor. "I have a class to attend. We see the results after the Christmas holidays."

Regulus had closed the door behind himself. He had frowned when he had seen Barty there. Barty instead had hoped he would be anywhere but there. He had been sure Regulus was going to turn him in for listening in to their conversation. But Regulus had made no attempt to do so.

"Eavesdropping, weren't you, Crouch?" he had stated instead. His tone had been plain but there had been this small, mischievous glint in his eyes. He had been amused, that much Barty had been able tell. Barty had looked away, his ears turning red, hoping Regulus Black of all people wouldn't notice his embarrassment. After all, he hadn't planned to eavesdrop. And even less he had wanted to get caught red-handed.

"No", he had muttered.

Regulus had chuckled. "Well, I expect to see you for our next tutoring session tomorrow. The full moon is still almost two weeks away but I think we could try the Wiggenweld Potion before it."

A week had passed and the Potions lessons had stayed the way they was - horrible and brain numbing, but mainly just because Ravenclaws shared the class with Hufflepuff and not with Slytherins. The tutoring sessions instead hadn't turned out to be as bad as they had been. Barty had actually started to like them. And moreover, even with all the frowning and half-assed advice he had gained, he had started to like Regulus Black.

In a completely platonic way, the rational part of his brain had screamed the very moment the thought had for the first time find its way into his head. Sure, they had became something what could be called friends: they spent time with each other in the library between and after classes, worked on potions to make sure Barty wouldn't fail, and sometimes they were seen hanging around the Hogsmeade together. Barty had even cheered for the Slytherin team in the first of the year's Quidditch games. He had also been the first to get a victorious smile from usually so restrained Regulus after the Slytherin had caught the Snitch.

If a simple smile had made Barty's heart beat so fast he should have known he was falling for Regulus Black. And he eventually did.

* * *

"Where're you taking me, Black?" Barty finally asked, after trudging in the slush for another 15 minutes. It was the Christmas break and it had been Regulus' idea to meet during it. However, Barty hadn't assumed it would mean walking around London.

Regulus looked over his shoulder. "You should trust me, Crouch", he said with a small smile playing on his lips.

"I do trust you", Barty mumbled, the heat rushing to his face and making his freckles stand out even more. Regulus hummed confidently at the sight.

"No, you don't", he said. "But I can live with that. We're almost there anyway."

The awfully cheery music became slowly clearer as they walked towards the Thames. The bright lights, noisy children, rush and overcrowding followed soon after. Barty wrinkled his nose at the sight.

"You're taking us to a muggle fair?" he asked, looking dubiously at Regulus. They weren't the greatest muggle supporters; not even close to that to be exact as they both were respectable pure-bloods.

Regulus crossed his arms. "Have you been in one before, then?"

"Not even once", Barty replied, mirroring the action and crossing his arms as well.

"Good."

"...Huh?"

"I said 'good'", Regulus repeated. "Neither have I." He rolled his eyes. "Come." And without asking he had grabbed Barty's arm and started dragging him along the way.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"How did you find about this?" Barty asked, taking another bite of an candy apple.

"I found a leaflet from my brother's old room", Regulus told easily though Barty knew Regulus preferred not speaking about his family. Another thing they had in common, Barty had noticed. "It's an annual thing", Regulus added. "I thought that muggle or not we could give it a try."

"Mmm, but no telling about this little trip to anyone", Barty said and tossed the rest of the apple into Thames.

"Littering", Regulus scoffed. "Really, Crouch?"

"It's not littering if it moulders", Barty countered with a grin.

For a moment Regulus just stared at Barty before he started giggling - actually giggling - uncontrollably. It was such a delighting sound Barty would have hugged Regulus then and there but he didn't.

"You're unnaturally cheery today, Black", Barty remarked, grinning.

"Am I?" Regulus asked, still giggling a little.

"It's not... a bad thing, I guess", Barty added a little too quickly. He swallowed. "I actually... I actually like your smile more than that constant frown of yours", he stated quietly but hoping Regulus would catch his words anyway.

The giggling stopped. "A constant frown?" he asked, his brows knitting together.

"That's what I was talking about", Barty groaned. "You're getting a wrinkle. Right. Here." He grazed the spot between Regulus' eyebrows. "It doesn't really suit you."

Regulus pouted. "I don't think people should pay attention on how I look."

"Too late for that", Barty muttered.

It was Regulus' turn to blush but Barty couldn't see it since the sudden, blinding flash lighted up the sky. The fireworks had started.

"Life is life, fight for it", Regulus said, suddenly very close to his friend. "Anyone, any day, can face a gruesome death. But life is, in one way or another, always worth living." He gave a smile. "Isn't that right?"

Barty nodded and offered a half-smile in response. "Yeah..."

"You're shaking", Regulus said, intertwining their cold fingers to share the warmth. "Better?"

"Where're you going with this?" Barty asked, hoping the words wouldn't get stuck on his throat. Holding Regulus' hand was more than he had bargained for but...

"We should live a little while we still can", Regulus whispered.

Just holding hands had been more than enough, more than Barty could have asked for. But having Regulus Black to kiss him was like one of his deepest, though also one of his most innocent, fantasies had come true. It was clumsy and short for a kiss but it had left Barty breathless.

"The Polyjuice Potion will be ready next week", Regulus said, looking straight at Barty's eyes. "And I won't tutor you anymore when it's done."

"I know", Barty panted, his cheeks aflame. "But we'll still be together, right? As friends or something..."

Regulus didn't answer immediately and they stood there in silence for what felt like hours.

"Do you trust me?" Regulus asked at last.

"I do trust you", Barty replied and offered a reassuring smile.

"And what I now tell you will stay between us?" Regulus pressed.

"I swear it on my mother."

Regulus nodded. "I already... have plans for the future", he said with a small smile, grasping his sleeve and pulling it up to reveal his forearm. "I don't think you could be my friend, a part of my life, when those plans happen."

"It's interesting, the way you say that", Barty hummed, looking at the tattoo on Regulus' arm. Sure, he was a bit shocked to see the Dark Lord's mark there. After all, Regulus was just 16 years of age, not even adult yet, and he was already chained to such a fate. Barty shook his head and let his eyes meet Regulus'. "As if you had made that that choice for me already."

Regulus pulled his sleeve down and avoided the eye contact with the Ravenclaw. He didn't say anything, he didn't have words that would change anything. He would become a full Death Eater. It was his dream. If it meant he and Barty couldn't stay friends then so be it. But the thought hurt so much if he hadn't been so good at concealing his feelings he would have just broke down then and there.

"I guess I just need to follow you there, then", Barty said, pushing his hands on his pockets. Regulus gazed at Barty in shock. Had he just...? Had Barty just...? Barty grinned widely. "I will find you, alright? Don't change your mind about this. We'll be the best Death Eaters around."

Regulus gave a smile. A real smile. Bright and relieved. "Alright. My friend."

Regulus didn't compete his final year. And was needless to say it was already too late when Barty joined the Death Eaters in 1979 after his graduation from Hogwarts. Regulus Black was nowhere to be found and that was the crucial piece on the puzzle how Bartemius Crouch Jr. fell from his grace.

* * *

 _"Life - what is life? Upon a moorland bare_

 _To see love coming and see love depart."_

* * *

For his rusted love for a man who had changed his mind.


	11. Friends Forever

Name: Friends Forever

Summary: They were the best friends for life. / Chardora friendship

Season/Round: S2FR1 – _Dialogue Implants_

Score: 8/10

A/N: A friendship fic for a change. At the time when I wrote this fic I shipped Charlie and Tonks only as friends but by now I ship them as a couple as well. They're just so adorable together.

Characters: Charlie Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, others.

Chaser 3 Prompt: "The next time I tell you it's a bad idea, how about you try actually _listening_?"

Optional Prompts:

1\. (colour) salmon

2\. (song) Pokemon theme song

5\. (word) tear

* * *

 _Every challenge along the way_

 _With courage I will face._

 _I will battle every day_

 _To claim my rightful place._

 _Come with me,_

 _The time is right,_

 _There's no better team._

 _Arm in arm we'll win the fight!_

 _It's always been our dream!_

* * *

"Hey, Charlie?"

The pub was filled with dim light and Charlie raised his eyes from his half-empty pint. Slightly flushed Gavril, a man on his early twenties, sat next to Charlie on a rickety bar stool, his dark eyes heavily lidded and tired. They had been colleagues for almost three years and if something the young Romanian was nosy when he was drunk. Gavril wasn't really a bother; he was good with dragons and nice enough to get along at work. And sometimes he was a good company to have a drink or two with.

Charlie gave a smile. "Yeah?"

"Was there ever a special girl in your life?"

Gavril's question was simple and his voice wasn't slurred, as if he wasn't drunk at all. Charlie was silent for a while, pondering how to answer. He had a long ago accepted the fact there would never be a special woman in his life. Not in a sense his colleague meant, anyway. Of course there had been several remarkable women during the years. Like his mother and sister and Professor McGonagall.

Charlie emptied the pint with a grimace. Oh, how he missed English beer. Gavril looked at him expectantly and Charlie knew he had to tell him something.

"Well… There was this one girl…"

* * *

 _And so we talked all night about the rest of our lives_

 _Where we're gonna be when we turn 25_

 _I keep thinking times will never change_

 _Keep on thinking things will always be the same_

* * *

If I had learned something here at Hogwarts it's never try to get in the Hufflepuff common room if you don't know how to do it. You'll end up reeking like vinegar for days. It is better ask someone who knows how to get in to reveal the passage way for you instead of trying it yourself. The Hufflepuffs actually let you in quite easily if you know the right people and–

"Yeah, wait a sec. Tonks! Your boyfriend is here!"

–Yeah, about that. I think I knew just the right person for getting in.

"He's not my boyfriend!"

I grinned when the infuriated yell echoed from where I thought – just thought because I couldn't know it for sure anyway – the girls' dorms would be. I hummed, shifting my weight from one foot to another. A wild guess what colour her hair would be this time. I'd say... blue. But it has been blue for a while. Could be orange, though, I wouldn't be surprised.

It didn't take long before the girl in question had crawled through the passageway and was standing at the barrel door, her arms crossed. Her hair caught my attention. Or actually it would have caught anyone's attention but it was just something you never got used to. I had known her for the best part of these four years and it still sometimes shocks me. Perks of being friends with a metamorphmagus, I guess.

But anyway, it was salmon. Her hair, I mean. It was salmon coloured. Like the fish. I hadn't seen that one coming. It must have been because of the dinner. Her hair stuck up in ridiculous spikes and her shirt was messily stuffed inside her skirt as if she had just dressed up in a hurry. Her tie hung loosely around her neck; she hadn't even bothered to put it under her collar. She tapped the floor with her foot, shaking her head and waiting for an explanation for my appearance.

"Charlie Weasley." Her voice was firm but there was hint of something I could have called amusement. Or initial shock. "What have you done to look like that this time?"

Nymphadora Tonks – geez she would annihilate me if she knew I just called her Nymphadora (believe me, I've seen her do just that) – asked when she saw my face. Her look told me I looked worse than I had expected. But I couldn't look _that_ bad. Or could I? I hadn't actually seen myself yet so point taken. Would explain though why I had been stared at.

"Nothing really", I said. "I promise."

Tonks glared at me, her lips forming a thin line. But it didn't take long for her to give in. It never took. She ran her hand through her hair, giving a frustrated groan.

"Fine. Come in. Sit where you want." She rolled her eyes. "I'll go get something for your battle scars."

Sassy little shit. She's clumsier than anyone and yet she says things like that. If there's nothing to trip over her feet will do the deed and she'll end up with bruises and a bleeding nose. That's why I can come to her looking beaten up, which I don't admit I looked like, and she takes me in.

Reluctantly, but yeah. I sat on the worn out leather sofa, my regular spot.

Tonks mumbled something incoherent under her breath when she came back with the overly familiar muggle first aid kit. The kit made a small click when she opened it. She unscrewed the small bottle. The smell made me grimace. I still hadn't gotten used to it. Tonks smirked at my face and poured some liquid to the cotton pad. "Take it like a man", she said and started to press my swollen, and most likely wounded or else it wouldn't have stung, lip with the pad. I flinched.

"That hurt", I murmured with my limited lip movement.

"Can't hurt more than getting these." I shrugged at that and she moved the pad, making me flinch again. "What did you do this time?" she asked.

"Why do think it was my fault?"

"I never said that."

"You made it sound like that."

"What did you do?" she asked again.

"I may have said something to Slytherin Quidditch team. About how I knew they had cheated against the Ravenclaws", I told her. "And yes, it may have been a bad idea just like you said."

She slammed her hand on my knee. "I knew it!" she exclaimed and I grimaced because of the sudden pain. She really didn't know her strength. Tonks sighed, shaking her head and taking more pads from the kit. "But really. The next time I tell you it's a bad idea, how about you try actually _listening_?"

I shrugged, not saying anything. At the times like these I had to admit that I kind of liked her. In a completely brotherly way, of course. She was like the sister I didn't have, acting like she was my mother. And when she didn't act like a cranky, old fire breathing dragon she was actually quite... I don't know. I liked the soft, caring side of her. Tonks poked my cheek.

"Hey! Don't smile while I'm trying to help you, you walking disaster." My smile just widened when she puffed her cheeks in the most not intimidating way imaginable. "Stop grinning or I'll give you a reason to shed a tear or two, Weasley", she sneered.

I forced myself to look somewhere else, still smiling. But then again, she quite effectively reminded me of her temper. Perhaps a dragon would have indeed been easier to handle than her, after all. She dropped few drops of the liquid on another pad and started to press it on my eye corner. We didn't speak but I was grateful she was there. I wouldn't even dream of letting her go.

Tonks slapped my arm after couple minutes, startling me once again. "You're good to go", she said, closing the kit. I rubbed my arm, grinning. I would get more bruises from her than from the whole Slytherin Quidditch team. Not that I would say that to her.

"Hey, Tonks?" I said.

She raised a brow quizzically. "Hmm?"

"I'm so glad we're friends."

Tonks cracked a grin. "Going soft, are you?" she laughed and tossed her arm around my shoulders. "Friends forever, right, Weasley? Next time I'll make sure you won't get beaten up!"

* * *

Charlie sighed and beckoned the bartender to bring him another drink. The old ventilator droned on the background, mixing with the other familiar noises of the bar. Charlie thanked the bartender who placed Charlie's third pint on the table.

"We didn't really have time for our friendship after we graduated", Charlie said slowly, trying to keep his voice from slurring. Gavril leaned over the bar table and listened to his older colleague carefully. Charlie gazed at the liquid in the pint. He really didn't like the Romanian beer.

"I went to study dragons", he continued. "She got into the Auror training. We just didn't keep in touch so much. We saw shortly only once after that when I visited my old school because of the work. Just said hi at the Ministry. She hadn't changed a bit." He laughed and emptied the pint with one sip. "Same old Tonks."

"But it's never too late", Gavril helpfully offered. "Take a week off and go see her."

Charlie's drunken laughter stopped. Instead he gave a sad smile and hummed quietly in agreement. "I guess I should", he said and drank his beer.

After all, he hadn't visited Tonks' grave for a long time.

* * *

 _As we go on_

 _We remember_

 _All the times we_

 _Had together_

 _And as our lives change_

 _Come whatever_

 _We will still be_

 _Friends Forever_


	12. Love Happens

Name: Love Happens

Summary: Fred Weasley doesn't read. Or does he? A story where Fred has an ulterior motive for reading but everything doesn't always go like it does in books. / Unrequited Fremione, set during the summer before Hermione's sixth year.

Season/Round: S2FR2 – Phrasing It Right

A/N: This was our last round during the second season but of course we didn't know that back then. I wanted to try writing Fremione, and as much as I like the pairing, I found writing it not a piece of cake. Overall we ended up being 5th on the ladder, narrowly missing the top 4.

Beta: Rayniekinnz. This was the only one of my S2 stories to be beta'd.

Characters: Hermione Granger, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, others.

Chaser 3 Prompt: _he didn't quite know what to think of that picture_

Optional Prompts:

2\. (dialogue) "We might be born the same, look the same, but we're two different people still."

3\. (quote) "A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment." – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

13\. (word) summer

* * *

She didn't quite know what to think of that picture.

After all, it wasn't an everyday occurrence to see the Weasley twins at the Burrow now that the shop takes all their time, especially as the summer season was ending and school was starting in few days. But even more unusual was to see one twin without the other.

Though, as Hermione liked books in general, there was no way she wouldn't find a man with a book attractive.

And Fred Weasley with his nose stuck in a book was indeed enough to make her breath hitch. Hermione's lips curled upwards as she continued looking at Fred. He looked so unaware of her presence – his eyes danced down the lines and occasionally he even smiled at what he was reading. Hermione walked to the kitchen where the red-head was casually leaning against the sink, holding the book in his left hand and turning pages with his right.

"Hey," she said and Fred almost dropped the book he was holding.

"Jeez, Hermione! You scared me!" he exclaimed but calmed down considerably when he noticed Hermione was alone. "Oh, Ron and Harry aren't with you?" It wasn't an actual question but more like a statement. "Have you been here for–?"

"I didn't know you read," Hermione interrupted him. Fred looked positively frightened; his brown eyes widened comically as his face slowly lost its colour as he his eyes jumped from Hermione to the book before he quickly regained his composure. Or at least a part of it.

"I... I wasn't reading," he protested but his tone held an unnaturally nervous edge. "I was just... looking if there were any pictures in it." He shook his head but held the book protectively anyway. "I don't read," he added more firmly.

Hermione held back her smile. She was about to let the obvious lie slide until she caught a glimpse of the book's spine and a familiar name. "Wait, isn't that _Pride and Prejudice_?" she asked.

Fred looked a little flustered by the sudden question. He flipped the book so he could see the cover. "Seems so," he said at last and shrugged. "Do you like it?"

"Do _you_?" Hermione countered.

Fred scratched his neck and grinned. He seemed to have relaxed a bit but left the question unanswered. Hermione crossed her arms and looked at Fred.

"So, why are you reading muggle literature?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Dad brought it from work and gave it to me and George. He was probably scared that Mum would be mad at him for bringing more muggle stuff here," Fred explained and beckoned to a brown cardboard box on the table. "George laughed me out the shop when I suggested we keep them so I decided to give them back."

"George laughed you out?" Hermione repeated, amused. "I thought a thing like that would never happen between you two."

"Ha ha. We might be born the same, look the same, but we're two different people still. And I could say we have vastly varied interests." Fred wiped away an imaginary tear. "I've always had a soft spot for some romance."

Hermione stared at Fred as if he had just grown a second head. Fred rolled his eyes but wore a wide grin on his face. He moved few strands that had escaped from Hermione's messy ponytail behind her ear before placing his hand on her shoulder. Fred leaned to whisper into her ear:

"How about you find out yourself?"

Hermione felt her blood rushing to redden her cheeks and she backed away. "Wha-what–?"

"I meant the box," Fred said easily.

"Oh, right." Hermione bit her lower lip and moved briskly to open the cardboard box. What was I thinking, Hermione cursed, thin fingers grazing the box. She gasped as she saw what was inside it.

"Amazing!" She beamed and without hesitation dug deeper into the box. It was full of muggle books, old editions. "Jane Austen, Margaret Mitchell, the Brontë sisters… These are classics!" Hermione squealed.

Fred chuckled. "Anything you would recommend?"

"Well…" Hermione emptied most of the books to the table, piling them and then putting them back and silently trying to find the book she was looking for. For a while she thought it wasn't there but... "Ooh! This one!" She passed the book to Fred who quizzically looked at the cover.

" _Wuthering Heights_ by Emily Brontë?" Hermione nodded as response and Fred shrugged thoughtfully, leafing through the pages. "Is it that good?"

"It's my favourite," Hermione admitted eagerly. "I haven't read it in ages but it's wonderful. There is this one part where Catherine and Heathcliff meet at Thrushcross Grange and–"

"Then it's yours."

Hermione looked baffled when Fred offered her the book. "Oh no, I can't." She shook her head. "I really can't."

"Of course you can. I don't read, remember," Fred said, grinning widely and offering the book again. "Just take it, Hermione. As a gift."

"Thank you, Fred," Hermione murmured and after a moment of hesitation she accepted the book and hugged the red-head tightly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. But no telling anyone, anyone, about this, okay? Especially not Ron. I don't want to ruin my good reputation in his eyes."

Hermione laughed. "You can bet I won't tell anyone."

Fred and George Weasley owned the apartment above their shop; small and comfy and as equally messy a place as the Burrow. But it was homely and a nice place to live.

George had taken Verity out with him. Fred had for a while supposed there was something going on between his brother and their employee. Not that Fred had anything against their relationship, if there was any. But George wouldn't be coming back anytime soon.

Fred pulled out a chair and slumped down. There was a loud thumb when his elbows made contact with the table's surface. What was I thinking? Fred thought glumly, gritting his teeth and burying his face in his hands.

After all, he hadn't gotten the books from Arthur. He hadn't been laughed out by George; on the contrary, George had encouraged him to go. Fred had bought those books for Hermione. And he had ruined his chances for telling her about his feelings.

Now he had a box of romance novels, placed on the corner of the room where it would only wait the dust to descend over it. Only Pride and Prejudice was left on the table. It was a good book actually, Fred had to admit. Very well written. Such an intelligent woman that Jane Austen had been.

A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment. That was indeed true. But the same could happen to a man as easily.

It had happened to Fred.


	13. Not Just Another Flower

Name: Not Just Another Flower

Summary: Severus' reason for coming to the Death Eater gatherings isn't rational. And Lucius is okay with it. / Snarcissa, Marauder's Era, Severus's POV, Pre-Prophecy, one-sided Snily in the past if you see it that way, established background Lucissa marriage, Aromantic!Lucius

Season/Round: S3R1 – _Getting to Know Our Team-Mates_

A/N: I got a position in Montrose Magpies and I became Chaser 3, just like during previous season. As this was my first entry for Season 3 it's not beta'd as I found myself too shy to ask for help. Because of the Chaser 3's prompt, I was assigned to write about Snarcissa. I had never even considered writing it before because I don't really care about Snape. I had picked a 'no dialogue' prompt, which in the end wasn't a mistake even though it felt like it. I most likely received a good score but I never wrote it down.

Characters: Severus Snape, Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, others.

Chaser 3 Prompt: Write about your team's Beater 1's OTP or favourite character.

Optional Prompts:

4\. (poem) 'Hour' by Carol Ann Duffy

11\. (song) 'Fever' by Peggy Lee

13\. (restriction) no dialogue

* * *

' _We find an hour together, spend it not on flowers or wine, but the whole of the summer sky and a grass ditch.'_

– from the poem 'Hour' by Carol Ann Duffy

* * *

There are reasons for everything, but some reasons are just more rational than the others. I keep reminding myself of that but the thought keeps escaping my mind.

I'm not a rational person.

The Manor is just the exterior of the Malfoy family's prosperity.

A purely political marriage, they both say. I believe they mean it, too. Their families are so high up in the wizarding society. It had been only natural Abraxas Malfoy and Cygnus Black hadn't asked their opinions about the union. I've never seen Lucius and Narcissa look purely happy with each other after they got married. They don't hold hands, they don't kiss. It's like they just happen to be at the same place at the same time. Complete strangers tied together by a string they can't cut.

I stare at the door for a small eternity. I'm invited but I'm also late. I shouldn't be so restless but my hands won't stop shaking.

Rodolphus opens the door. His eyes widen momentarily but the confused look disappears as quickly as it appeared. He stays quiet but lets me in without a question. I don't think Lucius told him I was coming. It doesn't surprise me when Rodolphus abandons me as soon as we step into the living room. Seven years sharing a dorm and I don't remember him speaking to me in full sentences.

I look around the room. So many familiar faces, faces I don't really care to see. Most of them I know from Hogwarts – Rosier, Avery and Mulciber stand as a group. Wilkes isn't with them but if the rumours are true he's getting married soon so I'm not surprised by his absence. I notice Walden Macnair further away from them. Why he has been invited I don't take a side.

My eyes flicker to Regulus Black, Barty Crouch, and Rabastan Lestrange… They are all just school children. Lucius is taking a risk by inviting them now that they still don't have marks. I know Rodolphus takes full responsibility of Rabastan but I have my suspicions about the other two.

I'm not alone with my thoughts for long. Lucius himself comes to greet me with open arms and offers me a glass of wine. I accept the drink and Lucius smiles. He's handsome and polite, a complete opposite of taciturn Rodolphus who is rough around the edges. But on the inside Lucius isn't any better than Rodolphus. He's cold as _ice_.

 _It's always so nice to have you here, Severus_.

He has a slick tongue; a habit of saying what people want to hear. He wasn't a Prefect for no reason. He was a sticker to the rules when they pleased him and he knew how to evade the ones that he found displeasing. He knows how to tie people around his fingers. His family is influential. He is calm and collected but passionate of pureblood supremacy.

Those traits have earned him a high spot in the ranks of Death Eaters.

There was a time I wanted to be like Lucius. My decision to become a Death Eater sprouted around that time. It happened a long time ago and came with a price. It cost me one friend I loved dearly.

And gave me another.

Narcissa is there, standing next to the wall. She's always present when the Death Eaters gather even though she isn't one herself. She's too pure to be one. Now she looks almost bored. She almost camouflages with the wallpaper but I find her stunning as ever. Her long blonde hair cascades down her back, making a stark contrast to her dark dress. She's talking with her sister. Seems like Bellatrix has been drinking like a sponge; she cackles madly and clings on Narcissa as she can barely stand at all.

I stare at Narcissa. She moves elegantly, holding her sister's weight and yet standing tall as if Bellatrix doesn't affect her balance at all. Her every movement is effortless and graceful, and flawless. Her eyes light up and she holds my gaze briefly before turning back to Bellatrix. There is the slightest hint of a bashful smile on her face. I release the breath I didn't realize I had been holding.

Lucius raises a brow. He looks unimpressed but that's just because he knows. _He just doesn't care_.

Narcissa says something to her sister and friends and leaves the room. The door closes without a sound. I sigh. So I didn't get to speak with her after all.

There is a change in the air and I glance at Lucius. His ice cold eyes, feeling as though they were staring right at my soul, have this malicious glint in them. A smirk splits his face. His words are chilly and they drop from his tongue like drops of acid.

 _Don't disappoint her._

The smile Lucius shows after is charming and he even pats my shoulder reassuringly before he leaves to deal with the other guests. He sure can be scary and bipolar. I smile faintly. But it's only when it comes to Narcissa. He's protective of her; they are married after all, even if it's just to please their parents.

But if Lucius is mostly nonchalant about me being here, Rodolphus openly hates my presence. He hates half the people Lucius invites over and I'm on top of that list. I pass him and Amicus when I exit the room. Amicus laughs at something but Rodolphus furrows his brows at me. He knows what's going on between me and Narcissa and it doesn't please him. He thinks it brings dishonour to the entire concept of pureblood marriages.

The corridor is silent and only the echo of my steps is there to fill my ears.

The door to Narcissa's personal room is open and I step in. She sits on the edge of the bed with her hand on her knees and smiles. I close the door behind myself and stop in front of her. She stands up and embraces me tightly, whispering sweet words in my ear. So she had waited for me. I breathe in her sweet scent. Her words delight me. Narcissa's fingers tangle in my hair. She tugs slightly and giggles at my expression. I run my hand up under her dress and she gasps. She is frail and soft, so soft to touch.

 _My mother told me to beware the silent ones._

It's been six years and I still have nothing to offer her. I'm not wealthy like Lucius. I'm not a pureblood. Her parents would never accept me. But she smiles so brightly every time a chance appears for us to spend an hour or two together. Her smile is the most beautiful thing in my world, and if my life is like the long and dark winter, she is the fleeting moment of short and vibrant spring that keeps me going forward on this path I've chosen.

Her lips are soft against mine. They speak my name.

And I'm in love with the most radiant flower under the sun and the summer sky.

* * *

" _Sun lights up the day time_

 _Moon lights up the night_

 _I light up when you call my name_

 _And you know I'm gonna treat you right_

 _You give me fever when you kiss me_

 _Fever when you hold me tight_

 _Fever in the mornin'_

 _Fever all through the night"_

– ' _Fever_ ' by Peggy Lee


	14. Catching Up

Name: Catching Up

Summary: Terence returns to London after years of working abroad. Will his friendship with Adrian be the same? /Post-War, set in 2001. Terence x Adrian friendship, background Adrian/Penelope and Flint/Wood.

Season/Round: S3R2 – Friends Are The Family We Choose For Ourselves

Score: 8/10

A/N: A friendship round! So, with Terence and Adrian I had a lot of freedom because they're almost as minor as minor characters can be. Small Star Wars references because my Adrian is such a dork. I had actually fun writing this one, even though I prefer writing romance.

Beta: Erbkaiser

Characters: Terence Higgs, Adrian Pucey, others.

Chaser 3 Prompt: Write about Slytherin x Slytherin friendship.

Optional Prompts: Optional Prompts:

2\. (word) force

5\. (style) first person present tense

9\. (opening sentence) It had been a very long day.

* * *

 _It had been a long day. It had been a long month actually, and an even longer year._

* * *

London seems different.

Terence doesn't recognize the faces of people passing by. They don't recognize him either. How could they? Terence hasn't been in London after 1993. The place has changed.

The street is covered in a thin layer of melting snow. The sun shines through the veil of clouds but it's not enough to warm the air. It's still chilly. Terence straightens out his scarf and pushes his hands into his pockets. He wishes he had brought gloves but the time he had spent across the ocean had made him forget how cold it actually is in London. He has been back for nearly two weeks and yet the weather surprises him every time he goes out.

Terence knows there is still almost half an hour left – just enough time to turn around and return to the Leaky Cauldron, where he's staying, and forget he ever sent that owl. But he doesn't do that, no matter how anxious and afraid he is.

The owl had returned with Adrian's letter the same day Terence had sent one to him. It had been a short and simple, or as Terence called it, a bluntly put response. Maybe Adrian is angry because it has been such a long time? Terence breathes out. He still has his twenty-five minutes time to try calming down.

"Terence!"

Terence turns around and swallows the lump forming in his throat. Adrian waves his hand and walks, runs, towards him. There is a wide, childish grin splitting his face. He's no longer the smooth cheeked chaser from their time at Hogwarts but now a mature young man with broad shoulders and neat stubble on his jaw line. Terence smiles and his nervousness fades a little.

"You're here early, Adrian," he says, uncertain. "We weren't supposed to meet until two."

"I decided to be on time so I left work early," Adrian replies with a grin. "It's not every day we get to see each other. How long has it been? Seven, eight years already?" Adrian looks at his fingers thoughtfully before staring at Terence with wide eyes. "Dammit, it's really been that long!"

"Yes, almost eight–"

Terence can't finish his sentence because Adrian has already pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Terence smiles through the slight pain. "Mate, it's so great to see you," Adrian murmurs.

Adrian radiates happiness. His words are powerful and Terence feels warm inside even though the bitter cold pinches his skin. Adrian had missed him. It's enough to make his uncertainty disappear.

"You too, Adrian. It's been a while," Terence says when Adrian lets go off him. There is so much to say but he doesn't want to talk outside. He wants to tell Adrian everything, but even more so he wants to know everything he has missed. He points at the small coffee shop across the street. "Coffee?" he suggests.

"Only if you pay," Adrian quips easily.

Terence smiles fondly. "Coffee it is then."

* * *

It's easy to talk with Adrian. It has always been so, even now.

They had exchanged a few letters after Terence had graduated. Adrian had kept him updated of how things were progressing at Hogwarts: which House won the House Cup, who was appointed as a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, the usual stuff. It had been almost like he had still been there with them. It had been followed by a time when Terence had truly regretted taking the job offer that forced him to move overseas.

"But really, Terence, it made my day when you owled me," Adrian murmurs happily and wraps his hands around the warm coffee cup. "I had kinda spent these, you know, last five years wondering if you had forgotten about me."

"I hadn't," Terence says and Adrian smiles at that. Of course Terence hadn't forgotten about Adrian. But the more time had passed, the harder contacting his old House mates had become and even Adrian, who had been his dearest friend during their years at Hogwarts, had seemed unreachable.

"You're still in touch with–?" Terence's voice trails off.

"–with the old team?" Adrian concludes and Terence nods. "I am, mostly with just Miles since he lives practically next-door, but yeah. I take that as you're not."

Terence shrugs. "Not yet I'm not."

"Ooh! Speaking about the old team I actually met Marcus the other day!" Adrian exclaims and snickers. "I think all that time he's spending with Wood is finally turning him into a softie. He has totally lost his edge. You see, we were both shopping for groceries I saw him at the vegetable department–"

Terence blinks. "Wait a second. They are officially together? Really?" he splutters, interrupting Adrian. Adrian nods eagerly.

"Have been for two years by now," he confirms.

"All those years of denial... I never thought I'd live to see this day," Terence says and shakes his head. Marcus' crush on Oliver had been so blatantly obvious it hadn't been even funny.

"That's what I thought before they invited me to their house-warming party. Seeing all that making out made me want to die instead of having to watch it," Adrian jokes. "But at least they're happy together and not constantly at each other's throats."

"No more rivalry then?"

"Oh no, no! They still compete," Adrian explains. "They're both in the League – Marcus plays for the Falcons and Oliver for Puddlemere and they show absolutely no mercy on the pitch. But at home they're so lovey-dovey it's almost disgusting."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" Adrian asks. Terence chuckles a bit and looks at Adrian before glancing at the wedding ring on Adrian's finger.

"Oh, _that_."

"You got married."

Adrian nods slowly. "Yeah." There is a red hue on his cheeks and he grins in delight. "You remember Penny?" he asks.

"Penny?" Terence repeats with a raised eyebrow.

"Penelope Clearwater," Adrian corrects. His smile can't become any wider. "The Ravenclaw Prefect. We kinda… hit it off. You remember her, right?"

"Sure, I remember her. So I missed when Miss "sticker to the rules" Clearwater became Lady Pucey," Terence says with a lopsided grin.

"You could say so," Adrian laughs heartily and delves his wallet from his pocket. "And you actually missed something else as well." He passes a small photograph to Terence.

"Is that…?" Terence's eyes widen. No, it couldn't be.

Adrian grins. "Yup. My daughter."

* * *

Terence doesn't even remember the last time when his cheeks had hurt so much. There is still so much to share but after three cups of coffee Adrian looks at his clock and sighs.

"I need to go pick up Leia from the day-care," he says and sits up. "Penny will be working late."

"I still can't believe you named your daughter after that Muggle movie," Terence sighs, even though he's not surprised by the unusual naming choice. "May the Force be with you and all that crap. I still can't believe your parents didn't disinherit you."

Adrian laughs. "There were worse choices," he hums proudly. "I could have named her… I don't know, Gertrude? But if she had been a boy I would've named him Anakin."

"Seriously?" Terence snorts.

"Definitely," Adrian confirms. "Hey, Terence, hopefully you're not planning to leave London soon because I was thinking of inviting you to join us for a dinner this Saturday. You'd see Penny and Leia?" Adrian asks hopefully. "Maybe we could invite Miles, and Marcus, and Oliver as well. Graham will be there as long as there's free food but Cassius probably won't be able to make it–"

"Dinner sounds good," Terence says with a smile. "I wouldn't even consider saying no. You need me to bring anything? Like wine? Or roses for Lady Pucey?"

"Just be on time, Casanova" Adrian grins and punches Terence's shoulder playfully. He digs his phone from his pocket. "I'll call you. What's your number?"

Terence rolls his eyes. "Adrian."

"Wha–? Oh for the love of Merlin, Terence," Adrian complains and waves his phone in front of Terence's face. "It's the 21st century, you'll need one of these!"

"Not yet," Terence says. "You can keep your Muggle machinery."

"Oh right, fine, I'll owl you," Adrian replies and sticks out his tongue. "But let me tell you these Muggle inventions will be popular amongst the magical folk someday in the future. Just wait and see."

"Suuure," Terence drawls. "Just go fetch Leia from the day-care before she thinks you've forgotten her."

"I'll tell her you said hi." Adrian grins. "Hey, Terence," he adds softly. "I'm glad to have you back."

"Me too, Adrian," Terence says. "Me too."

* * *

 _In the end it doesn't matter how much time passes. A true friendship never ends._


	15. For What Is Gained

Name: For What Is Gained

Summary: The Malfoy family is freed of most of the charges but the freedom comes with a price. Narcissa struggles after the War. /Post-War, established Lucissa, Narcissa's POV.

Season/Round: DPC1 – Poems

A/N: The Daily Prophet was revived and upgraded from the first season so they now held competitions between rounds. The first round was about poetry. This was my poor attempt to try writing a poem. I don't do poems.

Characters: Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy

Prompts: relationships and fire

* * *

 _It's easy to miss_

 _And easier to judge_

 _If you see us kiss_

 _Please don't hold grudge_

 _The sneers, the glares_

 _It's enough already_

 _Why don't you see_

 _The pain you put us through?_

 _ **~o~**_

 _Should I rejoice for what is gained?_

 _Or for what is lost should I cry?_

 _I hold my head up high_

 _You wonder but you don't ask why_

 _I'm proud of my choices_

 _But you make me scared_

 _Is there a future_

 _In a world of hatred?_

 _ **~o~**_

 _Our last name perhaps will bring us down_

 _For a sake of something we cannot undone_

 _Alone I shan't go down this fiery path_

 _We'll face the consequences, we'll face the wrath_

 _But leave out our only son_

 _That's my final wish_

 _What is lost is forever gone_

 _May the one last kiss_

 _Break this curse_


	16. Signs

Name: Signs

Summary: Art class isn't a place to make friends. It's a place to end up getting a huge crush on a guy who doesn't know any signs. Because what would be more perfect? /Muggle!AU. Deaf!Seamus. Pre-Slash. Deamus.

Season/Round: S3R3 – _Not Your Average OTP Round_

Score: 8.75/10

A/N: I liked this round, and I actually had a lot of ideas but in the end I picked hearing loss. Though for a while I expected a low score because my entry didn't fully match with my round prompt. The last sentence is a reference to one of my favourite Jean/Marco (Attack on Titan) fics in AO3. It's called, surprise surprise, 'Dear Jean Hello' by FreckledSkittles.

Beta: Rayniekinnz

Characters: Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, Lavender Brown, others.

Chaser 3 Prompt: Write about your OTP dealing with a physical illness.

Optional Prompts:

7\. (quote) 'If you search for imperfections, you'll find them' - Jose Enincas

10\. (picture) (I don't remember what was in the picture anymore and I can't find the link)

12\. (word) coated

* * *

 _"If you search for imperfections, you'll find them"_

– _Jose Enincas_

BUT

 _"There is a kind of beauty in imperfection"_

– _Conrad Hall_

* * *

If I had to name the first turning point in my life, I would say it was an explosion.

No, not like those small accidents I had had in the past with my poor attempts with the microwave (note to self: do not put a spoon into a microwave) and other various household appliances. This had been a big one. A major one. A life changing one. You get the picture.

There had been a gas cooker in our kitchen since I was seven. Like a really old gas cooker. Fergus and I had been playing around the house, looking for trouble and having adventures only two eleven and thirteen years old kids could have, and from somewhere Fergus found our Uncle's lighter. Of course we just had to try it and that had been a wrong choice.

Someone left the cooker on.

And boom.

I woke up in a hospital in the middle of the night two days later. My Mam was there and she looked so relieved when I sat up and asked why I was in the hospital. She moved to sit on the edge of my hospital bed. There were tears in her red and puffed eyes, apparently she hadn't done anything else but bawled for two nights. She patted my hair and I asked my question again. I felt very dizzy and my voice sounded weird.

I didn't really remember much about anything that had happened in the kitchen; I had hit my head pretty hard. The doctor later explained that I had gotten a serious concussion, bruises and a broken wrist. He said it was a miracle both Fergus and I had survived.

But in the meantime my Mam's comforting words and explanations couldn't quite reach me and it started to freak me out when I saw her lips moving but nothing coming out of her mouth. I could've afforded losing an arm or a leg. I would've even preferred a gigantic scar on my face.

Because life would be so much easier if I could hear a thing.

Yup, that blasted explosion took away hearing – look Mam, I made a pun about the annoying as hell disability I have – and all I thought for few days was that everything could go only downhill from that point onwards. I was eleven. My life was just about to begin – I was about to start secondary school, get more friends, maybe join some clubs, and after couple years get someone to go on dates with. But after getting out of hospital I had absolutely no idea what to do with my life.

* * *

I'm not perfect. I never was but let's say there aren't many bright sides to being deaf. It's imperfection at its finest. Of course you can just close your eyes and since you can't hear anything you don't have to deal with 'listening' to anyone's bullshit but it gets boring soon, and now that I've been deaf for almost seven years it's just that. Though I've gotten used to not hearing anything it still sucks.

I need to pay special attention to people's faces when they talk because seeing their expressions helps me understand the tone they're using. I've become quite good at reading lips by now and sometimes people don't even realize I can't hear them right away. Speaking is harder because I don't always remember how some words are pronounced and so I prefer using signs. Or even write down what I want to say (which I hate because I never remember to bring a notebook and a pen with me).

At home I don't have such problems. Mam 'speaks' fluent sign language and Dad, well Dad comes around when he's not working. We talk using the alphabet magnets on the refrigerator door. It's kind of our thing.

I sigh heavily and out of boredom turn the page of the magazine I'm not even really reading. It's the last weekend until the start of the term. Mam's chopping vegetables. We're having casserole tonight. Too bad Dad won't be joining us; he's working late again.

I feel the wood of the table vibrate as Mam taps it. I raise my eyes from the magazine to meet hers.

'Have you considered joining any clubs this term?' she signs (and for the bazillionth time during this break) and I shake my head. I don't want to join any clubs or teams or anything like that. Mam's brows knit together and she purses her lips. 'You could get new friends?' she tries.

'I have friends.'

It's not a lie. I have lots of people at school who tolerate me. People like Lavender, and Hannah, and Ernie, and Susan, and Neville. That's five already. I tap my chin thoughtfully. I guess there are others as well.

I can see Mam rolling her eyes. 'What about that Cormac?' she signs hopefully. 'He's a nice lad.'

And here we go again.

'Just being your co-worker's son doesn't make him nice,' I sign back and grimace. 'He's far from nice.' For such a good-looking bloke he's not a very pleasant company. Actually calling him impolite would be improvement.

'Perhaps if you spent more time together then–'

'I'm deaf, not dumb,' I sign at her. 'I don't want you to try setting me up with all your friends' kids.'

Mam flushes. 'I'm not setting you up with anyone. I was just thinking that maybe–'

I raise my middle finger and shoot her with a look that clearly says 'screw you, Mam.' It's my own sign of telling her that I'm offended but that I appreciate her effort. She looks rather defeated.

'Oh, Seamus.' She pouts. 'You really need to get more friends.'

I wave my hand. 'No thanks.'

* * *

And that's how we get to the second big turning point in my life.

I ended up having art classes (which in Mum's opinion was a perfect way to make new friends) but I'm not artistic at all and so for an half an hour I've been staring at a blank canvas.

I startle when someone taps my shoulder. I turn around to see who had decided to bother me. None of my friends has art classes so it's partially a nice surprise when I see Lavender – beaming like always and with her notebook in hand – and her friend Parva… Pavar… Parava…? See? I can't pronounce her name even in my head. She and Lavender are attached at the hip. They're part of the team who run the school's paper.

Lavender knows very few signs. She has always preferred writing. She scribbles something down and passes the notebook to me.

 _'Fancy seeing you here,'_ she has written.

I snort. Fancy I could've written the exact same words, Lav. _'Why are you here?'_ I write instead.

Lavender rolls her eyes and scribbles furiously. _'I'm making an article about deaf Irish kids in the art class. What ya think?'_

I stick out my tongue and snatch the notebook from her. _'Mam called you, didn't she?'_

Lavender grins, writes something down, and turns the notebook so that I can see.

 _'She did ;)'_

What's with the winky face?

Mam likes Lavender. Not so long ago she wished there could be something more than friendship between Lav and I, but I made it clear that there will never be anything like romance between the two of us. We're friends, or like siblings. I would never date Lav, no offence to her. It would just feel wrong.

Lavender and Parvati – ten points to me for _hopefully_ getting her name right – had left me and started circling around the room. Apparently they really are making some article; Lavender talks with the art professor and Parvati takes photos of the class. I turn back to my art work which currently is nothing to be called art.

I pick up a brush and dip it in the bright red paint. Okay, here goes nothing. I grimace at the result. It looks more like a splatter of blood than art. How will I fix that?

A shadow falls on the canvas and I glance over my shoulder. You better not to be laughing at me and my nonexistent art skills, Lavender, or I will…

Holy bleep.

There is this guy who's totally not from my class, with dark skin and even darker hair, and he's even taller than Ron, and I can't breathe.

And he practically stares at me. My eyes widen. Oh fuck, did he just say something and not realize I'm deaf? Come on, Seamus. You've spoken English over half of your life, don't screw this up. Just because you can't hear your own voice it doesn't mean you can't say few words without sounding like a complete idiot, right?

"Did you ask something?" There you go.

He tilts his head. "No?"

Then don't stare at me like that! It makes me nervous! He says something – I know he speaks but I can't read his lips for fuck's sake because he mumbles – and looks at me expectantly. I just look at him without a word. What do you expect me to do? I snap out of my confusion and shake my head.

'Sorry,' I sign and my hands move spontaneously. 'I just thought you said something to me and–'

He raises his hand, interrupting me. "I don't read signs," he says awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize… Yeah, sorry."

I want to slap myself. Of course he doesn't read signs. It's not something what (that) everybody just automatically knows. Well, it would've been too good to be true if he had known signs.

"No." I smile a bit. "It's okay."

He looks a little distressed as if it's not okay. "Well, see you around?"

He smiles and I just nod dumbly and watch him walk to other side of the class.

Oh, how I want to curl up and die. That's no way I'm getting new friends so thanks a bunch, Mam. Instead I end up getting a huge crush.

* * *

If someone in this school knows everyone, it's Lavender Brown. She knows literally everything. That is probably why she's the top reporter for the school's paper. We're sitting in the cafeteria and I don't bother trying to figure out what the others are saying – yeah, it would be nice to know what's so funny but I'll rather have my peanut butter and jelly sandwich in silence since Lavender likes to judge me about having the world's worst taste in sandwiches.

Speaking about Lavender, she tosses me a small crumbled paper and hits my cheek. I consider – and by considering I mean I'm already ready to toss it at her – ignoring whatever she has written but she mouths the words 'open it' heatedly and even waves her hand to emphasize her words. Parvati rolls her eyes at her. I hastily straighten the piece of paper.

 _'Dean's looking at you'_ There is even a small heart drawn in the corner.

I turn my head as little as possible and glance over my shoulder. Holy shit, she's right. It's been almost three days since I first met Dean in art class. I remember that day all too well; I made a total arse out of myself and that's not the way I want to be remembered. I still have people reminding me of that one time I caused a small incident in the chemistry lab and sassed the professor.

So, the name's Dean Thomas. Got in with a sports scholarship and was in the relay team until the last year. It hadn't been a surprise that Lavender knew who he was because well, she knows everyone. And I just had to ask. Now she can't let me live that one down.

She tosses another paper in my direction.

 _'He likes you ;) You should totally ask him out'_

 _'HOW?!'_ I write in big letters on the other side of the crinkly paper and toss it back to her. She rips part of the blank page, writes something and tosses it at me.

 _'I don't know and I don't care ;)'_

That's what she says but she has this maniacal look in her eyes that clearly says that if I won't do anything, she will.

But yes, if I want to humiliate myself, I'd rather do it on my own.

* * *

Life isn't sugar coated. It's not easy. It won't be easy. I'm not perfect, and I'll never be. But I can try and carry on. It doesn't mean that there can't be anything worth enjoying. I glance at the clock on the wall. It's past midnight and I'm still trying to get my thoughts on paper.

I write two more lines and frown at the letter as if the words would start making sense that way. I crumble up my poor attempt and toss the offending piece of paper to the other side of my room.

Should asking someone out really be this hard? Maybe, but maybe not. I sigh and pick up the pencil once more. At least I'm not giving up yet. I'll get there.

 _'Dear Dean, hello…'_


	17. Small Miracles

Name: Small Miracles

Summary: Cassius doesn't believe in miracles. But he believes in Roger. Fluff, slash, Hogwarts Era

Season/Round: Daily Prophet Competition 2 – S1R3 – Rarepairs

A/N: This was for the second Daily Prophet Competition and it's also featured in my Cassius/Roger collection, 'Bludger to the Head'. The task was to find a round from one of the previous seasons and write a fic of 500 words for a position that I currently don't write for. I decided to use first season's round 3 which was about rare pairings. And I love rare pairings, okay.

Beta: Rayniekinnz

Characters: Cassius Warrington, Roger Davies, mentioned Graham Montague.

Beater 1 Prompt: Choose a pairing with at least one Ravenclaw.

Optional Prompts:

6\. Dialogue: "Pretend that didn't happen."

8\. "When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know your name is safe in their mouth." - Jess C. Scott

* * *

 _"When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know your name is safe in their mouth." – Jess C. Scott_

* * *

 _Cassius doesn't believe in miracles._

"Roger."

Cassius can feel Roger's arms around his waist. He can barely move but that doesn't mean he doesn't find the position comfortable. The Ravenclaw snores softly. His breath tickles Cassius' shoulder and Cassius feels almost bad for having to wake Roger up.

"Roger. It's almost morning."

"Just five more minutes…"

Cassius chuckles at his partner's croaky voice.

"Not today," he says and nudges Roger's jaw with his shoulder.

"Why the hell do you live under the lake?" Roger groans but doesn't move an inch. "It's too far away from my tower…"

Cassius raises an eyebrow and chuckles. "Your tower?"

"I'm tired," Roger mumbles defensively but his voice doesn't hold its usual edge. "You can't seriously expect me to be all smart and articulate this early in the morning…"

"Why would I expect something like that, good Sir?" Cassius teases. "You see, I don't believe in miracles."

"I find it a miracle that we're together, Cassius," Roger says softly and yawns.

A warm feeling spreads in Cassius' chest at those simple words. He loves the way Roger says his name. It makes him feel light, carefree even. And more important than any girl Roger had bedded before him. He knows Roger loves him.

Roger presses his face into the crook of his neck and Cassius lets out a content sigh as the Ravenclaw nuzzles his hair. If only mornings like that could continue forever. Roger slides his fingers over Cassius' ribs. His grin only widens when Cassius shudders.

"Can't we just cuddle for a little longer?" Roger asks playfully, finally fully awake. "Or maybe we could do something else?"

"Only if you want to get kicked out by a very angry Montague," Cassius says even though the suggestion tempts him and his neither regions. "Just get up, Roger. Your clothes are all over the room."

Roger untangles himself from Cassius and reluctantly gets up from the warm and comfy bed to collect his clothes. He pulls his shirt over his head and reaches for his trousers when he notices Cassius looking at him.

Roger grins. "Like what you see?"

"I've learned to appreciate your nice behind," Cassius states and licks his lips. He lets his smile fall a little when Roger zips up his trousers. "Aww."

"You can see my behind again tonight," Roger whispers with a teasing smirk on his lips. He goes to peck a small kiss on Cassius' cheek before leaving for the door.

"You forgot your shoes, Cinderella," Cassius says and Roger quickly turns around. Cassius points at a pair of black shoes.

"Pretend that didn't happen, Prince Charming," Roger says. He takes his shoes and without putting them on walks to the door.

"See you later?" Cassius asks.

"Of course, Cassius," Roger replies with a toothy grin. "Of course."

 _But he believes in Roger._


	18. Shining, Shimmering

Name: Shining, Shimmering

Summary: Cedric is getting frustrated when the Golden Egg doesn't cooperate with him. Moody decides to give him a hint. Would taking a bath really help?

Season/Round: S3R4 – _Getting Those Feelings Out_

Score: 7/10

A/N: I really disliked this round (not as much as I disliked few later rounds, though). The round's task was to write about whatever you want whilst portraying your given emotion in your fic. I was going nuts with this fic. Do you know how tricky feeling 'surprise' is to describe without actually using the word surprise?

Beta: Erbkaiser

Characters: Cedric Diggory, Barty Crouch Jr. disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, Cho Chang, others.

Prompt: Surprise

Optional Prompts:

1\. (style) First Person POV

2\. (word) Burst

3\. (word) Skip

* * *

I feel the migraine approaching as I rub my temples and try to keep the pain away.

Trying to figure out the clue of the Golden Egg had been like trying to expect the unexpected. Like trying to solve a very tricky puzzle. Opening the Egg didn't work – the high-pitched wailing broke out when I tried and the sound hurt the ears of everyone in hearing distance.

The Egg has kept me on my toes for weeks and the day of the Second Task is approaching. I know the Egg contains some sort of clue for the next task and I need to get it. I'm getting frustrated and I can't sleep well. I have tried opening the Egg in the moonlight. I have tried opening it under a heating charm. I have even tried breaking it. Nothing so far has worked.

It isn't my fault if this Tournament keeps me awake during nights. Even Cho noticed my tiredness at the breakfast and told me to get more sleep. I must have snapped at her too harshly because she walked out of the Great Hall. I wish she would understand. She is important to me – so important I would die for her – but this Tournament is important as well. She doesn't care if I win or lose but I do care. That's why the Golden Egg comes first. I hope she'll forgive me.

I yawn loudly when Professor Moody dismisses us. I don't get far when I hear the professor calling me.

"Diggory."

I grimace intentionally. Had he perhaps noticed I had snoozed through his class?

The professor hobbles next to me, looks around suspiciously, and takes a quick sip of his flask.

"Professor Moody?" I ask when the professor glances over his shoulder, as if there would be someone listening to us. "May I help you somehow?"

Moody ignores my question completely. Instead he puts his hand my shoulder and squeezes. "Tense muscles," he grunts, gripping tightly. I clench my fists around the strap of my bag. "Are you stressing out this competition?" Moody continues emphatically, not letting go. "Have you figured out the clue already?"

"No, Sir," I stutter out, shaking my head and feeling the remains of my fatigue fade. "I haven't yet –"

The professor nods knowingly and removes his hand from my shoulder.

"I suggest taking a hot bath," he says in a gruff voice. "Could surely help you to gather your thoughts. I suppose that–" he winks his normal eye, "–it could be a very eye-opening experience to bring the Egg with you."

He pats my back before walking away.

I hadn't even considered getting help from Professor Moody, or any other professor for that matter. Even less had I thought he would help me with this task. After all, he's a professor; it could be considered cheating to take his advice. But had I anything to lose?

I run my fingers over the cool surface of the Egg and sigh. My legs are already dipped into the warm water. I'm sitting on the edge of the bathtub in the Prefect's bathroom, ignoring the staring, giggling girl ghost at the other end of the filled pool. I remove the towel from my shoulders.

I breathe in, sink into the scented water, and twist the Egg open.

My eyes widen in bewilderment when instead of the expected obscure screaming there are harmonious sounds, so vibrant and clear – like nothing I had ever heard before –bursting out the Egg like bubbles filled with music. The melody resonates in the water and hits my senses like a tidal wave.

 _"Come seek us where our voices sound,_

 _We cannot sing above the ground…"_

The Egg slips from my hands. I break the surface of the water, gasping for air and coughing out the offensive liquid out my lungs.

What I just experienced exceeded my wildest fantasies of the clue. I had never seen anything like it. The astonishment I felt couldn't be compared to any Christmas or birthday. I had expected something to fall out from the Egg. I had never thought there would be a song.

I push my hair out of my face. I take a deep breath and slowly sink under the surface. I reach down for the Egg and twist it open again.

The lights glimmer in front of my eyes. Shining and shimmering and lighting up. It's such a magical, wondrous sight. I would watch it the whole day and never get tired of it. The voices sing and I hold my breath. I know I need the whole clue.

 _"Come seek us where our voices sound,_

 _We cannot sing above the ground,_

 _And while you're searching, ponder this;_

 _We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_

 _An hour long you'll have to look,_

 _And recover what we took,_

 _But past an hour — the prospect's black,_

 _Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."_

I feel the grin stretching my grin. I sit there in awe, the closed Egg in my arms, breathing in and out. I feel excited and giddy.

That is it. That is the clue. I get the second clue. Now I only need to find out what the song means and I'm one step closer to getting through the Second Task.

I have History of Magic in the morning and it's hardly possible that Professor Binns would notice my absence so skipping a class wouldn't hurt. It's the eternal glory on stake, after all. And if I figure this out today I can spend the whole weekend with Cho.

I look around the pool; there are still plenty of bubbles left. The hour can't be too late. Moaning Myrtle is sitting on the embrasure, grinning at least as manically as I am.

I sink into the warm water yet again, this time knowing what to expect, and twist the Egg open.

 _"Come seek us where our voices sound…"_


	19. A Barking Dog Doesn't Bite

Name: A Barking Dog Doesn't Bite

Summary: Sirius can be more that a little bit difficult person to deal with and that's the understatement of the year. People say a barking dog doesn't bite but sometimes it's better to throw a bone and so Remus does something brash to make Sirius shut up. /Wolfstar

Season/Round: S3R5 – _Glory Days_

Score: 9.5/10

A/N: Since our team's chosen character was Sirius Black would you even expect me to write anything else but Wolfstar? A simple, short friendship/pre-slash/slight slash was all could manage to write this round.

Beta: Rayniekinnz

Characters: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, others.

Team's Chosen Character: Sirius Black

Chaser 3 Prompt: Write about your team's chosen character in their 4th Year

Optional Prompts:

9\. (dialogue) "I don't do well with snakes."

11\. (quote) 'Who says we have to grow up?' - Walt Disney

12\. (phrase) return the favour

* * *

Sirius' barking laughter echoes in the corridor.

There is nothing wrong in Sirius' laughter. In fact Remus likes the sound and its causes more than he cares to admit. But Remus' feelings for Sirius Black are complicated.

One reason, if Remus has to list the reasons for why he would never tell Sirius how he feels about him, would be Remus' lycanthropy. It wasn't so much of a problem anymore since Sirius knew Remus being a werewolf but he wasn't ready to cross it from the list.

The other – or more likely the rest of the reasons – is Sirius' attitude towards practically everyone else but himself.

Remus' brows furrow as he glares at Sirius. A group of younger students – probably third or second years since they are still so small in size – scurry away with frightened looks on their faces. Sirius can't stop laughing. When was the last time he had so much fun alone? He can't even remember. It's a pity, he thinks, that James has Quidditch practices so often. Sirius wipes the tears of mirth from his eyes and looks around, grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh hi, Moony my old pal," Sirius chirps when he notices Remus. Only he ignores Remus' crossed arms and the sour expression. "Did you see that?" he even asks. He seems so happy, Remus notes, that only if Sirius had a tail, he would be wagging it like an exited puppy.

"You can't go around hexing Slytherins," Remus says, trying to hide his exasperation behind a calm tone.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Remus," Sirius retorts playfully and proudly pockets his wand. "You're not a Prefect yet."

"Sirius," Remus growls lowly.

"And you should know how I don't do well with _snakes_ ," Sirius says with sheer disgust in his voice. "And for the record, it was a Ravenclaw," he adds in much lighter tone. "So no real harm done. But you really should have seen the little brat's face. James would have pissed himself!"

"No harm done? NO HARM DONE?!" Remus snaps and cuts off Sirius' snickering. "Sometimes I just don't get you, Sirius Black!" His nostrils flare as he inhales sharply but Sirius merely grins.

"What's there not to get?" Sirius asks and suggestively wiggles his eyebrows.

Remus groans. Sirius just doesn't get it. "You have to start thinking about your future, too, Sirius," Remus says. "The O.W.L.S are next year. If you keep sleeping through the classes and getting into trouble at least once a week–"

"So this is a null year," Sirius remarks cheerfully. "It's not like I would really get into any serious trouble anyway. The professors like me."

"You get detention at least once a month!" Remus cries out. "And where are you coming from right now? Oh yes, you were having detention with Professor McGonagall just a moment ago!"

Sirius shrugs. "She just enjoys my company. But hey, who doesn't?"

"I thought that at this point you would have learned that everything doesn't revolve around you," Remus hisses sharply. He is slowly getting tired of Sirius' attitude. Sirius always speaks before he thinks. _If he thinks_ , Remus adds glumly. Sirius doesn't care about the consequences of his actions. Sometimes Remus wonders if Sirius' brain is connected to the rest of his body in anyway.

"How about you grow a pair of balls before you try lecturing me?" Sirius suggests. "I mean, why do you have to act like there's a stick up your arse or something all the time?" Sirius blurts out.

Remus' eyes widen in shock. " _Excuse me_?"

Sure, they are friends, very close friends even, but Sirius was, and is, such an inconsiderate douche even for a 14 year old. It is right after the words have escaped Sirius' mouth that he bites his tongue. He couldn't help it, he tells himself. He just has a habit of saying the dumbest words that can come out of his mouth when Remus is around.

And of course things can get only worse when Remus decides to give up and walk away.

"You see, Moony," Sirius says and follows Remus, shaking his head. "There's something you need to know. You're acting like a bloody adult all the time."

Remus grits his teeth and walks faster. "Well good thing one of us is!" he hisses.

"Who says we have to grow up?" Sirius continues. "Seriously, Moony. You need to loosen up a little."

"Shut up already, Sirius," Remus growls but Sirius doesn't stop.

"No, really," Sirius presses on persistently. "Why don't you sometimes do something craz–?"

Remus stops abruptly and glares at Sirius straight in the eyes before crashing their lips together. The kiss lasts only few seconds before Remus pulls back and wipes his mouth.

"Just shut up, Sirius," Remus mutters, his ears burning hot. "Just shut up."

He starts walking again but Sirius is glued to his spot. He just grins and stares at Remus' back.

"Oookay," he drawls before running after Remus. "Now _that_ was crazy! Hey, Moony! Wait up!"

What is unbeknown to them is that James and Peter, under the Invisibility Cloak, had been witnessing everything from the beginning. James grins smugly. He's still in his Quidditch gear even though the team had finished early and he would have had time to go change before Remus would have left to fetch Sirius from the detention. James reaches out his hand expectantly and Peter sighs, discreetly passing him a few coins.

"I knew Moony would make the first move," James says proudly.


	20. The Wolfsong Fills The Night

Name: The Wolfsong Fills The Night

Summary: The Wolfriders Padfoot and Prongs spend time at the dreamberry field. It's a night for knives, ladies, and maybe some mischief. /Elfquest!AU

Season/Round: S3R6 – _Lesser Used Genres_

Score: 9/10

A/N: Yet another story about Sirius Black. I like the guy, can you blame me? But this time I wrote an Elfquest!AU. For those who don't know about Elfquest, there are few terms explained in the end.

Beta: Erbkaiser

Characters: Sirius Black as Padfoot, James Potter as Prongs, others.

Chosen Genre: Fantasy

Optional Prompts:

1\. (dialogue) "So… what exactly _is_ that?"

4\. (word) chasing

14\. (gemstone) Topaz

* * *

"Owooo… Owoooo…

The wolfsong fills the night…

friendly darkness,

winking stars,

the white moons full and bright…"

Padfoot hums the song all Wolfriders from cubs to elders know. He lies confidently on the field of dreamberry bushes. He has his arms crossed behind his head and eyes aimed high. The sky is dark but the stars and two moons light up the night. The long cold is coming in few nights, he knows it for sure. But this night is not about worrying for the cold, Padfoot decides, and stuffs a fistful of dreamberries his mouth.

Close to Padfoot sits Prongs, his will-be-chief and his close friend, only two eights younger but still just as much a cub as the lively hunter himself.

"So… what exactly _is_ that?" Padfoot asks curiously. "Something you wanted to show me? It's just a knife? Really?"

Prongs nods. "Who knew trolls could be this smart?" he asks, admiring the metal knife. He holds it almost cautiously. "That they can make… something like this? Something so beautiful, and yet, so deadly?"

The elaborate handle and long, curved blade of the sharp tool are made of the brightmetal, the metal of trolls. A bright gemstone the tribe elders call _a topaz_ is inserted in the handle and it winks in the night like a wolf's eyes. Prongs runs his fingers on the cold metal and sighs in awe.

Padfoot grins. "Now now, Prongs," he says. "Don't treat a blade as if it's a woman. It brings bad luck."

The knife forgotten, Prongs aims his eyes at the stars and smiles.

' _Ah, yes, my sweet lily flower, my precious Eveningstar,'_ he sends and shares his memories of the strong and skilled healer with Padfoot. _'Hair as red as a fresh kill and eyes as green as raw dreamberries_ … _Her healer's touch is what I yearn for the most… When will the Recognition spark between the two of us?'_

Padfoot gags at the tenderness of his friend's sending and breaks the too intimate contact between them.

"I would rather have love over Recognition any time, Prongs. Love like Frailmark and Ashen's," Padfoot says and licks his dreamberry smeared fingers. He looks at his friend who is almost desperate to share the bond of Recognition with the healer. "It's like having a sand-flea in your nose and having to sit in the thorn-bush, but you still keep chasing the healer like a near-wolf chases its tail… Chasing and chasing and never catching it…" Padfoot shakes his head. "She avoids you as much as you try to approach her."

"But she shouldn't, Padfoot!" Prongs whines and pushes his messy hair away from his face. He's letting his hair grow so that when the time comes he's able to wear the chief's lock. "I'll be the chief someday! Who would be more suited to tree with her than I am?! There is no one else!"

Prongs takes a sip of his wineskin to get rid of the feeling of annoyance he's feeling deep down.

"Who knows," Padfoot murmurs and sits up to reach for more dreamberries. "A capable healer can force the Recognition. I've heard of it happening few times in the past. Eveningstar seemed interested in it."

"But Padfoot", splutters Prongs in befuddlement as he wipes away the water from the corners of his mouth. "A forced Recognition?"

Padfoot shrugs. "Sometimes it's the only choice, I guess."

"Only choice or not, it's against the Way," Prongs growls and the knife gains his attention again. "And my sweet Eveningstar knows it. Who had even made her think about such… wrongness?"

"Who do you think?" Padfoot barks.

Prongs breaths out. _'Frog-Breath.'_

In the tribe there are very few of those who have the same abilities the High Ones once had when they had arrived to the World of Two Moons.

Marshthistle can shape trees better than her great-great-sire all those eights ago when the Father Tree was shaped for the tribe to live in. The Holt is safer than ever from the always dangerous humans who live all-too-close as long as her stinger-bushes and wines circle their woods all around.

One of the tanner's cubs – the eldest of the three – has already shown signs of another sort of shaping. It's more than what the tribe has asked for from a cubling no older than eight turns of seasons.

Eveningstar though, with her healing, was more than welcome when she was born more than eight eights ago. They still howl in their former healer's memory, if only Eveningstar had found her gift earlier… Prongs shakes away the memory of his mother. Sometimes the Way works like that, he reminds himself.

And then there is Snakeskin, the "Frog-Breath" as Prongs and Padfoot call him. No specific way to describe his skill, just magic that runs freely.

Prongs grimaces. How he loathes the magic user.

But Eveningstar likes the black-haired elf who is as trustworthy as a backstabbing troll. Padfoot senses his friend's troubles.

' _Back to the Holt, chieftain?_ ' Padfoot asks in an attempt to cheer up his young tribe mate. _'Maybe we could have some fun with the maggot-eaten magic user before the moons set?'_

' _My Sire is the Chief of this tribe, old friend–'_ Prongs smirks at his mischievous friend and sends his praises _'–but I appreciate your loyalty!'_

He howls, calling for his ride and loyal friend. The large brown wolf, followed by only a bit smaller black one, runs to the field. He greets the wolf – his wolf-friend, Barksnapper – and the greeting is returned. The next chief in line mounts his ride and beckons back to the woods.

Padfoot jumps on his wolf's back to follow Prongs and Barksnapper.

"Back to the Holt, Shadowsheen!" he encourages the black she-wolf and his wolf-friend yaps in return. "AYOOO!"

"AYOOOO! AYOOOOO!"

The wolfsong fills the night when the riders run back to Holt with their wolves. They're not hunting tonight for nothing but pride. Will it bring anything good for the tribe? The wolf doesn't think about the tomorrow and the sunrise. There is only now.

And they will howl for the night and whatever it will bring.

* * *

A/N: If the names weren't clear enough here's the list: James and Sirius had their Marauder names. Lily was Eveningstar, Frank and Alice were Frailmark and Ashen, Marlene was Marshthistle, and Severus was Snakeskin. Simple enough I hope.

Some terms for those who are not familiar with Elfquest.

Wolfriders are the tribe of elves who have wolf blood in their veins. They live in the woods with their wolves. They have special bonds with their wolves, and most of them have their own wolf-friends – like James and Sirius have Barksnapper and Shadowsheen.

Sending is telepathy between elves. You can't lie through sending. There is also wolf-sending between an elf and a wolf.

Dreamberries are berries that can give strange dreams and visions. If one has eaten too much they can cause passing out or other side-effects like blurriness in sending or general drunken behaviour.

Recognition happens between two elves. "Soul meets soul when eyes meet eyes." It can happen at the first sight or after years spent as friends or lovemates. Recognition can be forced between two but that's very rare.

The High Ones were the very first elves who came to the World of Two Moons. They were magic users like shapers and healers. Shapers are elves who wield old shaping-magic which gives them ability to shape trees, rocks, and flesh.


	21. Winter Wonderland

Name: Winter Wonderland

Summary: Christmas holidays have begun and Terence just wants to be alone and relax reading a good book. Adrian doesn't quite agree. Is this how friends are made? / Terence/Adrian friendship.

Season/Round: S3R7 – Potions Class

Score: 9/10

A/N: Because I felt like writing another Terence/Adrian friendship fic.

Beta: Erbkaiser

Characters: Terence Higgs, Adrian Pucey, others.

Chaser 3 Prompt: Skele-Gro

Optional Prompts:

3\. (poem) 'Winter' by Jan Allison

4\. (colour) olive

11\. (word) special

* * *

 _Thick blanket of snow_

 _Snuggling the flowerbeds_

 _With a winter wrap_

– _from the poem 'Winter' by Jan Allison_

* * *

It was that special time of the year again.

The Christmas holidays had just begun. Christmas decorations dangled from the Slytherin common room's ceiling, enchanted snow fell and disappeared before even touching the floor, and some older student had even charmed mistletoe over the hallway to the girls' dormitories for fun.

Terence sighed with content. He sat alone in front of the fireplace, his legs crossed, and a plain olive green sweater over his dress shirt. He enjoyed the silence. Only a few students were staying at Hogwarts over the Christmas and it was more than fine with him.

Winter and the damned holidays were such a pain, Terence thought. He adjusted the pillows before opening his book. They were nothing more than the useless nonsense of Christmas spirit, horrible carols playing everywhere, cold and snow, and food that gave him an upset stomach. Oh joy.

He liked a moment of peace and now he was getting it. The common room was empty and he had the best spot – the armchair in front of the fireplace, where it wasn't too hot or too cold and the lightning was the best for reading – all for him. Nothing could ruin his mood.

Or so he had hoped.

"–O'er the fields we go, laughing all the way!"

Terence cringed inwardly when the younger Slytherin barged in the common room, singing 'Jingle Bells' horribly out the tune. Some kids just don't have manners, thought Terence and he decided to ignore the second-year student. He hoped he wouldn't be bothered by him.

Unfortunately, Adrian Pucey didn't quite agree with that.

"Hey, Seeker!" he chirped cheerfully and walked to Terence.

"I have a name," drawled Terence, holding his book closely. He repressed the urge to groan when Adrian tilted his head in confusion. Apparently his name hadn't yet been memorized by him. "It's Terence Higgs," Terence said slowly.

Adrian grinned, completely oblivious to the tone. "Cool. I'm Adrian Pucey."

"I know," Terence said with a subtle eye roll.

"So," Adrian began, "you're reading?"

"As you can see," said Terence calmly. He hoped Adrian would just go away and leave him alone. But since Adrian apparently wasn't going anywhere, Terence turned the page and tried to shut out the unwanted presence on his right side.

"Would you go ice-skating with me?" Adrian asked after a moment of silence. Terence raised a brow and glanced at Adrian, who added, "I heard the ice is thick enough."

"No thank you," Terence stated as he turned back to his book.

Nevertheless, Adrian was smiling widely. "Or, you know, ride a sled down the roof?" he said brightly. "The Ravenclaws made a slide down from the top of the Astronomy Tower – they even had Flitwick's permission!"

"Dangerous outdoor activities, as if Quidditch isn't enough," Terence grumbled and finally closed his book, as it was impossible to even try concentrating on it while Adrian was talking. "What makes you think I want to end up with broken bones?"

"You can always grow them back?" Adrian suggested happily.

"Yes, Skele-Gro poisoning was exactly what I was looking for," Terence snorted and stood up. "And to be honest–" Terence glanced at Adrian icily, "–I don't really care for your company, Pucey, so if you could just scuttle away."

Adrian looked hurt. "Oh."

Terence grimaced. So now he was the bad guy. Christmas holidays, and winter in general, were making him frustrated and he had just wanted to be alone with his book, without having to tolerate jolly people and forget how it was snowing outside. But Adrian just stood there, waiting.

"I'm just sick of winter, okay?" Terence said, trying to explain himself. "Snow, and cold, and blizzards, and people, and cold, and snow… Did I mention cold? Suffice it to say I hate winter. It has nothing to do with you. Really."

Why was he telling that to a kid? He didn't need to prove anything to Adrian, but for some reason it was easy, and somehow even nice, to tell it straight out. To just say he hated winter, instead of reciting a list of lame excuses of why he preferred staying indoors and away from everything Christmassy.

"I'd rather sleep for three months. Like a bear. Or a flower," he added with a sigh.

"But what about Christmas?" Adrian asked curiously. "And New Year?"

"I've never been one for winter holidays," Terence admitted.

"But you would also be missing my birthday," said Adrian nonchalantly.

"And when's that?" Terence asked.

Apparently he had sounded interested enough because Adrian's face lit up like a child's – which he was, compared to taller and more mature Terence – on a Christmas morning. Adrian hadn't expected the question, Terence could see it.

"Tomorrow," said Adrian.

"Tomorrow?" repeated Terence with a raised brow.

Adrian shrugged casually but Terence felt a twinge in his heart. Practically the whole school was empty. Yet there was Adrian, waiting for his birthday to come. Screw Christmas and New Year, this was a completely different matter.

"We can hang out," Terence said with a lot less reluctance than he had expected having when it came to dealing with people. He was a bit hesitant to leave his book unattended on the side table, even though he knew no one would probably touch it. He straightened his collar and gave a small smile. "It's not like I have anything better to do. I'll just fetch my coat and scarf and–"

"We don't have go outside!" Adrian said quickly. "Just… just a walk around the castle would be great. Or a trip to the kitchens! We could drink hot chocolate and complain about winter!"

Terence chuckled at Adrian's enthusiasm. "Don't you like winter, Adrian?"

Adrian beamed as they walked out the common room. "I do! I just thought you wouldn't want–"

"It's okay to like winter," Terence said, "and Christmas. A cup of hot chocolate would do some good, though."

"The kitchens it is! We're happy tonight," Adrian sang, "walking in a winter wonderland!"

"You never shut up, do you?" Terence scoffed almost playfully.

"I like talking." Adrian grinned, pushing his hands into his pockets. "It's just hard to get anyone to listen to me."

"I see." Terence nodded. His lips twitched upwards. "You don't really have friends, do you?"

"Not many," Adrian laughed. "Okay, well, there's Miles, but he's a quiet one so I think it bothers him when I try talking to him but because I really, really like talking a lot–"

"Shut it, Pucey, or you'll be the one needing Skele-Gro," Terence said, cutting Adrian off. "I don't want to bash your face into a wall before I've had that hot chocolate."

Adrian theatrically zipped his mouth and tossed away the key.

Terence rolled his eyes. Who could know that few years later this was what he would be telling when asked how he met his best friend?


	22. Crossing Out Dreams and Wishes

Name: Crossing Out Dreams and Wishes

Summary: If I don't breathe, does that give you the right to kill me? What exactly is the definition of a monster? /Next Gen, Vampire!Louis

Season/Round: S3R8 – Next Gen Lovin'

Score: 5.25/10

A/N: This was a disappointment waiting to happen. I had been just released from hospital and I was a complete wreck with no idea what to write. I was a stubborn dead man walking, refusing to get a reserve (because reserves can't get bonus points). I eventually managed to write this and I couldn't care less about what kind of score I would receive. I may rewrite this as a multichapter fic at some point as my judge suggested.

Beta: Rayniekinnz

Characters: Louis Weasley, Victoire Weasley, OC-Uriel, others.

Chosen Character: Louis Weasley

Optional Prompts:

4\. (restriction) no using the word 'Weasley'

8\. (song) 'Wildest Dreams' by Taylor Swift

9\. (colour) periwinkle

* * *

 _I have this one wish, though. That you will remember me. Not as who I am but as who I was._

* * *

Victoire walks in from the front door.

She closes the door silently but the wind chimes' clinking gives her arrival away. I'm with Dominique in the kitchen; we hadn't expected her to come back just yet. _She trains really hard to become an Auror_ , I think. _That's why she's almost never home_. I nod very seriously at my thought, dangling my feet under the table.

Dominique smiles, pouring a cup of tea for Victoire. "You're back early, Vicky. Did Uncle Harry go easy on you?"

Victoire smiles back at her. "Teddy's back in town," Victoire says. "He's all good."

Just because I'm a child doesn't mean I'm stupid. Teddy is Victoire's boyfriend, and I like him. I know Teddy hunts bad things like monsters and Death Eaters. Victoire wants to hunt, too, but it's dangerous. Bad things are evil. That's why they are hunted.

"What was it this time?" Dominique asks.

I see them exchange a look. It's their 'should we say anything when Louis in the same room?' look. They use it all the time. I pout, staring at them, hoping they will give up. I'm already seven! I want to know, too!

Victoire cracks a smile, shrugging apologetically at Dominique. Dominique rolls her eyes. My smile can hardly get any wider when she ruffles my hair and says proudly:

"It was a vampire."

* * *

There are voices, sounds from the outside. Someone has managed to break the wards and get into the house. We are locked into my room, Dominique and I. She's cast protective charms all around the room. I watch the thin veil-like ward move over the periwinkle blue walls. The enchanted clouds have stopped moving.

"Don't worry, Louis," Dominique whispers, gripping her wand tightly as she stands at the end of my bed. She wants to keep me behind herself. She's fresh out of Hogwarts, never been in a fight like this. She's afraid. "I'll protect you."

Sounds get louder. They'll break her charms soon. I get up from my bed even though she hisses at me. She wants me to stay where I am. I walk next to her, moving my free hand onto her shoulder. She's shaking, and so am I. My wand feels heavier than ever.

"I'll protect you, too."

* * *

 _Drive out of the city_

 _Away from the crowds_

 _I thought heaven can't help me now_

* * *

"Seven teenagers murdered." I let out a silent prayer for them. Based on the description of the crime scene, Vampires were behind it. I curse. "And not even far from here..."

I close the paper from two days ago and take out a map instead.

I draw lines on it, marking down the safest way to Ilfracombe. That's our next stop. We never stay for long in a same place. It's not safe. It's never safe. But neither is moving from one place to another. I push my hair away from my face. We need to leave tonight. I can feel it.

"You have something on your ass."

"What?" I turn around, dusting my trench coat.

Uriel flashes a toothy grin, wiggling his eyebrows. "You know," he says sweetly. "My eyes."

I groan in exasperation. Of course. "I'm trying to work here."

"Are you denying one of the life's little pleasures from your own girlfriend?" he asks in a mockingly hurt tone, but the grin never leaves his face. "That's cold even from you, Louis."

"So it's a girl day today, Uriel," I ask when when Uriel pecks a kiss on my cheek. She, I correct myself, slicks back her dark red hair and laughs a little.

"That's how I roll," she says, walking away so I can work in peace. "Ooh, and Donnie and Colette are back with a car. Just so you know."

I roll my eyes. I don't even want to know where they stole it from this time. Donnie is, was, a muggle so he knows how to drive. Allison knows as well, but she hasn't been back after she left two days ago. I'm getting worried. She should be back already. I grit my teeth, folding the map. We're running out the time.

* * *

I hear the screeching of the tires. I sniff the air.

Allison, finally. I sigh in relief but the door to the warehouse is kicked open and the bad feeling returns. I'm sure my heart would stop if it was possible when I hear the shrill voice echoing. Why couldn't I smell her? I want to shut her voice out. I want this to be just a bad dream. She can't be here now. She. _Just_. Can't.

"Louis William Weas-!"

"I gave up that name a long time ago!" I shout back and move without a sound away from the table and into the shadows. I have an upper hand here, I have to remind myself when the other set of teeth I have tries to reveal itself. I can smell the fresh blood. She is truly outstanding. Able to hurt herself just to get her target to come close to her.

But rational thinking doesn't help me much when the instincts take over.

I approach her from behind, my tongue running over the sharp teeth. _Just wound her_ , I repeat over and over again. _Don't kill. Never kill. You're not a monster..._

I let out a subhuman shriek when the arrow hits my shoulder. It becomes hard to concentrate and move. So she uses dead man's blood now. I pull the arrow out. How ironic...

"I wouldn't want to hunt you down-" she pulls down her bloody hood. I can still smell Allison. Sweet girl, innocent girl. Never mean to anyone. I bare my fangs at the blonde in front of me. "But you brought this onto yourselves," she concludes with a menacing smirk.

"Shut your whore-mouth," I snarl. She is still very beautiful but years have started to weigh her down and cloud her vision. "We weren't behind those kills, Victoire."

It feels weird to say her name after such a long time.

"Of course you weren't," Victoire says sarcastically. "That's what that car-stealing monster said as well. You are good liars. She even wailed when I threatened her, swearing she had nothing to do with it." She swings the silvery machete. "I didn't even need my wand."

This is what has become of my sister who only wanted to protect us from the evil that's out there. A killing machine who spares no one on her crusade. She looks at me but it is not pity in her eyes. It's madness. She won't regret killing me.

"Think about Teddy and your kids," I groan. The dead-man's blood is still affecting me but I need to play time. "Think about your family. I'm your brother."

"Don't you dare to play that card!" she shrieks. "You're not my brother! Not since–!"

She wipes her face and I feel a pang of sadness. She loved Dominique. We both did. She didn't deserve what happened to her. Victoire's eyes flash dangerously.

"You're not my brother," she repeats, changing her machete to a gun and pointing it at me. "Louis died with Dominique that night."

"What happened to her wasn't my fault!" I cry out, crawling away from her. A silver bullet is the last thing I want to hit me. That, and the Killing Curse, of course.

"Well, you survived that night and she didn't!" Victoire hisses through her gritted teeth. "Now where are the rest of you bloodsuckers?"

I glare at her. There isn't much more I can do. "I'll never tell you," I whisper.

She grimaces. "Then you leave me no other choice."

I smile at her petulant expression. It reminds me of the times when we were young. When we dreamed of the better world for everyone. Seems like that dream will never come true. I close my eyes, praying Victoire will be quick.

The shot is heard but the bullet never hits. I open my eyes to see Victoire fall to the ground. I look around but I don't see from where or who had shot her. I don't plan to stay behind to ask if the shooter is on my side, though. The Beast Hunting Division's Aurors have many enemies. I get on wobbly feet and exit the warehouse, leaving behind the body of a woman I still wanted to call my sister.

I decide not to take Allison's car to catch up with the others. Her remains are still in there. Victoire hadn't shown her any mercy. I want to cry but that's a privilege I don't have.

Sometimes we're not the monsters.

Sometimes they are.

* * *

 _You could have remembered me_

 _Red lips and rosy cheeks_

 _You just chose not to_


	23. I Wish

Name: I Wish

Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts rages and Draco faces his fate after failing to kill Harry. Now all he can do is to wish Hermione doesn't follow him soon. / Set after/during the Battle of Hogwarts, slightly AU, one-sided Dramione, character death, Wing!fic, afterlife, inspired by Shakespeare's 'Othello'.

Season/Round: S3R9 – _Shakespeare_

Score: 8.5/10

A/N: This is it. The crappiest round there's ever been. I had never read 'Othello' before writing this. I still haven't read it. Probably never will.

Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, others.

Chaser 3 Prompt: Othello

Optional Prompts:

1\. (quote) 'Never tell a girl you like her, it makes you look like an idiot' - AVPM

6\. (word) feather

13\. (dialogue) "That is literally the worst thing ever!"

* * *

One can get away from a murder but the other not from a broken heart.

That is literally the worst thing ever. There is no such thing as justice for people like us. Justice is for those who know they're worth something. Something more than what they are having.

Humans are like bugs. Millions of insignificant people with no higher purpose than to live while trying to make the most of their lives, fail miserably at it, and then die–

–of a broken heart. Or a Killing Curse. Whatever. I had both.

I didn't think there was a heaven for people like me. Actually I didn't believe the heaven existed at all. I was so wrong. Don't believe me? Then don't. I'm the dead one of us, anyway.

Once I had risen above the confusion of no longer being alive, I got a glimpse beyond the illusion called I had called life. Everything got a sharper edge. Colours were brighter than before. I began having coherent thoughts now that the noise of the battle wasn't ringing in my ears. Sentences started making sense in my head though. I could clearly see my past mistakes, and there was a hell of a lot of them.

Trusting wrong people was one.

Well, most of them. Most of my mistakes involved trusting wrong people. Now I could finally see the errors in my choices, not that I really wanted to admit making any of them. The people – the person, to be honest – I had trusted were stripped from their masks now that the masquerade was over. The lies and the deceit echoed in the thin air. I had faced my end because of a man I considered a friend, a leader. The sounds of the battle were no longer audible. I hardly I heard my own breathing. Was I even breathing anymore?

It took me a while until I understood what had really happened. I felt great, deep sorrow for the harm and wrongness I had caused for reasons I couldn't make excuses for. I was misled and my naivety had gotten the best of me. I had been…. a little foolish. And that's an understatement. I had been downright stupid when I had started following the wrong footsteps.

The feathers sprouting from my back twitch. My wings are tender and pure, something I never thought I would deserve. Suddenly my shoulders tense. My mind becomes muddled like a human's mind once more. The thoughts that moment ago were sharper than ever are now blurred around the edges. I shake my head, I bite my tongue. Just to keep from remembering, I reassure myself. There is sheen of tears in my eyes that I don't bother to blink away.

I'm still just a bug. A dead one, but a bug nevertheless. I'm not an angel. I'm no better than humans living their lives. I don't have phenomenal cosmic powers. To be honest, I have less power over things than when I was alive. I miss my wand. I miss being alive.

I can't have what I want just by snapping my fingers. Afterlife is more complicated than that. Afterlife was like sitting in a room, an empty room with no door or windows, where you can only ponder on your past life but you know nothing about what's happening outside that room. There is no one to talk but yourself. And slowly, you will become insane.

But, you see, there is this girl who still keeps me sane.

Or makes me more insane. I don't know which is more accurate in this situation.

She is out of reach now even more than she was. I want to hear her voice so bad but I know the request of that kind must be denied. I laugh bitterly. I'm more the mess I used to be. My mind is being stretched in hundred different directions. I'm confused. I'm angry. The metaphorical room feels a lot smaller and colder than a minute – or was it an hour? – ago. Time has lost its worth here. I sit down. Deep breaths, Draco. Deep breaths.

Will I meet her soon? I wish I will, but I know that's a selfish thought. My wings flutter before they press against my back like a scared, ashamed animal. I sigh, disappointed. Even my wings seem be more rational than I am. I wish I won't meet her so soon, after all.

It would mean that she was dead. I would never wish for that. I would never raise my wand against her, but doesn't mean that someone else wouldn't.

Never tell a girl you like her, it makes you look like an idiot. As if I hadn't been an idiot already. She had fallen in love with someone else. She had been fighting side by side with him. I still hadn't been able to stay away when the battle had raged. Now I have to, and it doesn't make the distance any easier. I feel so insignificant. My heart isn't broken. I just don't have a heart anymore. I died. I got wings to replace it. I had lost the last piece of humanity I had hid behind the mask when the Killing Curse had hit me.

I wish her a long life with her boyfriend.

I wish her everything I hadn't have a chance to give her.

I wish she doesn't die.

Not today.


	24. Magic Touch

Name: Magic Touch

Summary: Molly walks in on Arthur in a muggle motel and she doesn't like the excuse. /Established Molly/Arthur. Attempted crack. Set before the First Wizarding War.

Season/Round: DPC – Crack Fics

A/N: I enjoy reading crack fics, but I'm certainly not qualified in writing them. This was just a silly idea that came to me while watching _Supernatural_. Sue me.

Characters: Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley

* * *

 _Year 1969. Bristol, England._

"I–" Arthur awkwardly clears his throat. "–am happily married, but I have my rights."

He inhales sharply. He is standing in front of a door, looking around the empty corridor with one hand already on the doorknob. He twists the knob, and with a creak the door opens. It's a very nice motel room. Very muggle, Arthur thinks with a delighted grin.

There are two beds in the room and Arthur tosses his jacket on the bed closer the window before closing the curtains and loosening his tie. He strips down his shoes and socks. He's almost giddy with excitement. This is his and Molly's second night at the motel, but now Molly is out and Arthur has a little time for other things before meeting up with her for dinner.

Arthur frisks his pocket for few coins. He has a very little money but it's enough for a while. And he's ready to pay for some… experimentation.

 _Okay, here we go_ , Arthur says to himself and lies down on the bed.

It takes a moment before the movement starts. Arthur lets out a startled gasp, not having quite expected _it_ to work like that, but he calms down as he gets more accustomed to the pleasurable feeling. It's almost like magic.

His breathing gets more erratic and he grips on the coverlet, tilting his head back in pleasure when an especially sensitive is nudged. It sends shivers down his spine.

Pressure on his back is amazing. He lets out a throaty moan. He loves every minute of the voluptuous torture he's going through.

But then it stops, leaving Arthur a quivering mess.

His hand darts to his pocket, fishing out another coin, and he pays willingly.

He's willing to pay anything to get the feeling back.

And he does get it back, and oh how he enjoys it. He can't even bring himself to hear the sound of the room's door opening before…

"ARTHUR WEASLEY!" The look on Molly's face shows pure terror.

"Oh hi, honey," Arthur splutters and quickly sits up. Molly glares him from the door before quickly pulling the door close and hissing:

"What on Earth are you doing?! We were meant to meet over fifteen minutes ago!"

"Magic Fingers," he mumbles sheepishly, unable to stop the bed from vibrating. His ears turn the shade of his hair as he avoids Molly's glare. "It's a muggle thing and I–"

Molly immediately flips him off and Arthur snaps his mouth shut. She has never looked so done with her husband.

"No. Fuck this shit"

Her tone is final. She turns and walks away, slamming the door and leaving his husband behind. The bed stops vibrating. Arthur's brows knit together. He pulls his feet up so they touch his chest and starts rocking back and forth. He purses his lips.

"But it's a muggle thing…"


	25. Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

Name: Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

Summary: Draco and Astoria have been together for almost four years and they're finally ready to take the next step in their relationship: children. But life isn't always fair. /Drastoria, Post-War.

Season/Round: S3R11 – _Top of the Pops_

Score: 8.5/10

A/N: I wanted to write something sad but I didn't even choose characters before I was halfway through this because I didn't know which of my favourites I want to put through this. I ended up using Draco and Astoria. Apparently it was the right choice. I got my first and only Judges Picks Nomination of the season with this.

Beta: Rayniekinnz

Characters: Draco Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy

Team's Assigned Song: I Don't Want To Miss A Thing – Aerosmith

My Line: 'Feel your heart so close to mine'

Optional Prompts:

1\. (word) delicate

8\. (word) determined

12\. (quote) 'Yesterday is not ours to recover, but tomorrow is ours to win or lose' - Lyndon B. Johnson

* * *

It was meant to be only a simple visit to the clinic, but from the moment Draco hears the front door opening he feels that something has changed.

Something isn't alright. It's too quiet. There is a horrible feeling that twists and turns his insides. Astoria walks into the living room, a crestfallen look on her heart-shaped face. She looks like a mess – she is missing her other shoe and curls of her hair are falling from what once was an elegant bun. The mascara is smudged around her eyes.

Draco stands up, swiftly putting his book down on the table, and opening his arms for her. And Astoria runs to him, silent tears streaming down her cheeks, and pulls him into a hug.

Draco's heart breaks when the first sob breaks the suffocating silence between them.

"I-I'm sorry…" Astoria's voice is a mix of high-pitched spluttering and low groans, all veiled in gut-wrenching sadness. She's gripping desperately on Draco's shirt, sobbing as Draco rubs circles on her back. "I… We… We lost her… I'm so sorry…"

– _Yesterday is not ours to recover_ –

Astoria doesn't cry anymore.

She doesn't even apologize.

Draco is grateful of that. The first few hundred times of 'I'm sorry' had been enough. She had half-sobbed and half-shouted the words at him before gradually – slowly, but steadily – calming down and allowing him to wipe the tears away. Draco had listened to her words, and let them sink in. It would've been less painful to receive a Cruciatus Curse.

He whispers sweet nonsense into her ear, soothingly running his thin, effeminately delicate fingers through her long and silky hair. Astoria wants to keep him close, in her grasp, and she tightens her grip on his shirt until her knuckles turn white. She's afraid he'll take the first chance and run away from, never to return. Because she feels like she has failed him.

 _It could be worse_ , Draco reassures himself, and listens to her now steadied heartbeat. Which is true, in a way. She is so close to him in so many levels. She has pulled him through so much and he has helped her as much. They still have each other. They'll just have to keep on trying.

Astoria doesn't even try to look away when Draco drops his gaze down, just to meet her eyes.

He wishes there is something he could do to make the guilty look disappear from her face. Her eyes are red and puffy and remains of the tears she shed are visible on her too pale cheeks. He nudges her with a pensive look on his face and she gives a tight-lipped smile in return.

"You shouldn't blame yourself," he manages to croak. His mouth feels like sandpaper when he utters the words. The usual edge lost in his voice. His words come out almost gently and he forces out a laugh because that's the exact opposite of what he is. He's supposed to be strong, and determined, and now…

Now he sounds almost pathetic.

Draco bites the inside of cheek to keep his composure when Astoria starts crying again. She leans on him and he can feel the only dry spot on the front of his shirt getting wet. She sniffles and wipes her nose on her sleeve, just to let out another sob.

 _We will survive this._

He repeats the sentence like it's a mantra. Over and over again, like it's his lifeline. He doesn't want to shed a tear. He pulls her closer, his arms wrapped around her tiny shoulders. He isn't sure how long has already passed, or how long will pass until everything is okay again.

 _We will survive this together._

A sour taste crawls up his throat. He can practically hear his blood coursing in his veins. His heart is like a jungle-drum, and he's sure she feels it too. He feels sick of the fate playing her cruel tricks on them. He wants justice. He wants to go and punch something or someone. He wants to scream, and shout, and just break down.

But Draco doesn't do any of those things.

He is the strong one of them; he's meant to keep them together through everything they face but at the times like this he wishes life would be fairer.

So instead of crumbling down like an abandoned building he cups Astoria's cheeks and offers a small, strained smile before kissing first her forehead, then her cheekbone, and lastly her lips. Soft and sweet – they're not in a hurry because the moment isn't for passion. It's for solace. It's for them both to know they're not alone with this pain. It's for staying strong.

Just a moment. Just a minute.

Just the two of them.

"We'll just have to try again," Draco says so quietly that the words almost die on his lips when he lets his hands caress her flat stomach. "We'll get there. The three of us."

They'll make it through this. Surely they will. They've been through so much already. They can always try again. They can keep on fighting.

Astoria inhales sharply and he feels her shift under his touch before giving him a small nod.

– _But tomorrow is ours to win or lose_ –

She presses her hands over his, the small action followed by the tiniest of the smiles as she looks up. There is a glimmer of hope in her eyes and it shines like a thousand suns. Draco allows himself to finally let a lonely tear roll down his cheek when he returns Astoria's smile and whispers into her ear four small words:

"Tomorrow will be kinder."


	26. Child

Name: Child

Summary: Albus isn't a child anymore but perhaps he could be a bit more honest with himself. Just a short random encounter between Albus and Kairi at King's Cross Station. /Next-Gen, HP X Kingdom Hearts. Set during the beginning of Albus' seventh year and between KH Dream Drop Distance and KH3 when Kairi was training to be a Keyblade master.

Season/Round: S3R12 – _Blurring the Lines_

Score: 9.5/10

A/N: I needed to write a crossover between Harry Potter and a game of my choice. My first choice had been Pokémon but I picked Kingdom Hearts instead. Not beta'd because I had run out of time and posted this in the end of an extension.

Characters: Albus Potter, Kairi, others.

Chaser 3 Prompt: Cross your story with a sub category within Misc., Games or Movies.

Optional Prompts:

2\. (quote) 'One day, you will be old enough to start reading fairytales again.' - C.S Lewis, Chronicles of Narnia

8\. (word) honest

14\. (setting) King's Cross Station

* * *

Albus is seventeen. He is an adult.

Or so he says. He still has his seventh year of education at Hogwarts to go through.

Waiting of the Hogwarts Express at the almost empty Platform 9 3/4, no matter how silly it sounds, is easily one of the best parts of the school year. The steam engine arrives precisely at 9, leaving students two whole hours to board the Express. No need to worry about missing the train and having to drive a flying car to school. Yes, Albus thinks, his Dad and Uncle hadn't really thought that one through.

But this year Albus looks his wristwatch, groaning in annoyance.

It's only half past eight and his last shift of the summer ended merely half an hour ago. He's been working past months in a 24/7 shop, the small one owned by muggles near the King's Cross Station, much to his family's distaste. Not distaste because the owners are muggles – their family is very pro-muggle, thank you very much – but because of his insane working hours.

Albus took all the shifts he could. A part of his Slytherin-y ambition, his brother James had said jokingly after Albus had come home after his first night-shift. And Albus knew he could work all hours of the day, with a little help of few simple potions, though he doubted his parents would really allow that. And after all, by muggle standards, he was still underage. So no completely working around the clock. Yet.

The reason Albus had started working at the shop at the first place hadn't even been that his parents wouldn't give him money. It had been more about making his own. About being able to support himself and buy the newest broom model in the showcase at Diagon Alley without having to ask for permission or money first. To be honest, he doesn't even like working there. Not that he would admit that to James or anyone else.

Albus sits up from the bench and flexes, dreaming about a cup of coffee. If he has over two hours to pass before the train will even leave the station, the hell no will he just sit there and wait. So he walks, for once paying attention at his surroundings.

There are many magical brick walls to go through at the King's Cross Station, he muses, running through the wall that separates Platform 9 ¾ from the muggle station. He goes through that very same wall twice a year so of course he knows what it feels like.

But then again, he has never gone through the other passages and seen the other platforms. Would they be different, or very similar? Where would those trains take him?

His curiosity surpasses his craving for a good coffee and he pushes through the brick wall between the platforms 8 and 7. It isn't a mistake, to be honest, but the experience isn't pleasant.

The horrible feeling you get when you're sleeping and suddenly you feel like you're falling, mixed with all the squeezing and twisting and your limbs being _pulled apart_ you experience when you apparate with someone (bonus points if you weren't ready to apparate because that's just awful, Albus adds sourly and rubs his neck) and make the whole thing slow motion. No wonder people run rather than walk through the wall.

The platform is quieter than expected since besides Albus, there is only one other person to be seen. A girl in pink dress – about Lily's age, Albus notes – sits on the bench alone, staring at the flagrantly purple and yellow coloured train with a small frown on her face. Her hair is red, like his sister's, but shorter and more effortless, reminding Albus of the cartoons he sometimes watched with James and Lily. They had all been young then. On the girl's lap is a book, thick and old, but Albus can't see the cover – the girl is covering it with his hands.

"Problems?" Albus asks out of politeness and curiosity. He had never seen her before. Perhaps she was home schooled, or he just hadn't noticed her at school. After all, he barely knew people outside his own circle of friends.

"I was going to spend my last day of vacation shopping and picking up some potions before returning back to my training," the girl says when Albus sits next to him. "But I boarded the wrong train. This isn't Twilight Town." She pouts but it's clear she's holding back a grin.

"This isn't _Twinkle Town_ either but close enough," Albus chuckles. The girl tilts her head in confusion – apparently not understanding Albus' subtle High School Musical reference – but she smiles nevertheless. Albus shakes his head and grins. "I'm Albus," he says, offering his hand. "Albus Potter."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Kairi." The girl shakes hands with him happily. "Where are you heading Albus?" she asks, folding her hands back into her lap. "If you don't mind me asking?"

Albus runs his hand through his hair and grins. "Nah, it's fine," he says. "I'm going back to school. For my seventh year."

Kairi lets out a small sigh of awe and Albus quickly shakes his head.

"But soon that'll be over, and I don't lie, I'm gonna be kinda glad about it," he mutters. "I can finally get a real job. People will stop treating me as a child."

"There's nothing wrong in being a child," Kairi says gently. "Nor is there anything wrong in being an adult. I read once that childhood isn't just from birth to a certain age – the line between child and adult is in fact very thin."

"Don't you sound mature for your age," Albus teases, trying to diffuse the tension.

Kairi smiles and pats Albus' knee before getting up. "One day, you will be old enough to start reading fairytales again," she says in all seriousness. "Be honest with yourself, Albus." She places the book in Albus' lap. "It was nice to chat with someone for once, but now I need to go. Yen Sid will get worried." She grins. "He has formed a soft spot for me."

Albus glances down his lap and back at Kairi, who is walking towards the train.

"What about your book?" he splutters but Kairi just giggles at him.

"Keep it," she says, her eyes twinkling. "You need it more than me."

She boards the train before Albus has a chance to say anything more. There is a high whistle and before Albus even knows it, the purple and yellow train has flashed away from the King's Cross and is nowhere to be seen.

Flabbergasted Albus walks through the wall, this time not paying attention on experience. The other platforms are full of people boarding their trains and leaving the platform. It's quite a rush time after all.

"Al!"

Albus turns to see Lily running towards him and the petite redhead huffs in annoyance when she reaches him.

"Where were you? I was looking everywhere for you!" she hisses at Albus. Her hair matches her angry red cheeks as she stares up at his brother. With a quick glance at his watch Albus understands Lily's rage: it's almost ten to eleven.

Albus finds it a little difficult to utter words but in while he starts explaining: "I went to Platform between 8 and 7 and–"

That is when Lily cuts him off. She rolls her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Al! There isn't a platform between 8 and 7," she scoffs, her brows knitting together. "You could've just told me you were taking a nap somewhere. No need to lie to me." She groans at her brother's expression. "Just come on, I don't want to miss the train."

Albus doesn't follow Lily immediately. Instead he pats his hand against the wall, surprised by the sudden solidness of the bricks. His hand doesn't go through it. It's as if there never was a passage to the platform where he had met Kairi just minutes ago.

For some reason Albus can't stop staring at the copy of _The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh_ , the only real evidence he had been there. That their encounter had been real.

He smiles. Maybe he could be a child a little longer.


	27. Family Remains

Name: Family Remains Through Bottles of Whiskey and Talking Portraits

Summary: Sirius is stuck at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He's alone, intoxicated, and in need of a good talk, but there is no one to talk with. Or is there? /Set during OotP. Sirius speaks with Regulus' portrait.

Season/Round: S3R13 – Go Wild!

A/N: My third and last fic about Sirius during third season. We were given free hands and I was finally able to write something I actually like. I'm very proud of this fic!

Beta: Erbkaiser

Characters: Sirius Black, Regulus Black, others.

Optional Prompts:

3\. (word) launch

4\. (word) repeat

14\. (quote) 'I drink to make other people more interesting' - Ernest Hemingway

* * *

Number 12 Grimmauld Place holds many secrets and even Sirius doesn't know all of them. How could he? He hasn't lived in the house since he was a snot-nosed brat and his memories of the place are a little fuzzy around the edges. He knows there is a secret door behind the bookcase in the living room, a collection of books from the Dark Ages inside a wall in his father's old study room, and probably more cursed items in the hidden basement than Borgin and Burkes have seen in their wildest fantasies.

Sirius sways a little on his chair. He's sitting on the end of the long table and is murmuring parts of _'Empty Chairs at Empty Tables'_ at the whiskey class before downing it on one go. He wonders if Remus will swing by and bring him more alcohol. Molly insists he should stop drinking but Sirius tries his best to dodge her whenever the Order gathers together.

There isn't much more to do in the big empty house anyway, and the Order had made it clear that he has no business outside these walls. Not yet at least. Too dangerous for a wanted criminal, they keep saying.

So he drinks to pass time and tries to keep the newly surfacing memories and the reality outside the walls at bay. There are things he has already forgotten about. Small things, wicked things. _Disgusting_ things. Memories are a pain in the ass, Sirius muses. He doesn't bother to pour himself another glass. He just grabs the bottle and takes a gulp straight from it.

Some of the drink trickles down from the corner of his mouth and he wipes it away. He looks like a mess and he knows it. His hair is matted and greasy and his beard is out of control. But why keep up an appearance if there's no one to impress? He doesn't even remember when he last changed his attire. The stain on his collar is from red wine – the shirt isn't new, that's for sure.

Sirius has one hand supporting his head and the other loosely around the half empty whiskey bottle. He wants to talk with someone – he has even given Harry the mirror so they could converse more often – but right now there is no one available, if he doesn't count Kreacher or his dear old mother's painting. The metaphorical lamp lights up in his head and he puts away the bottle. Maybe there is. He just had forgotten about it.

"Kreacher!" he bellows. "KREACHER!"

Kreacher would rather stay far away from the kitchen when Sirius is there, but he comes anyway – albeit unwillingly – when the wizard calls him. He lingers at the door and looks at the intoxicated man with barely concealed loathing.

"You called?" the house elf drawls. He stares at Sirius suspiciously. Sirius sucks in a breath.

"Go get _it,_ " he demands, sounding surprisingly sober. "From the basement."

Kreacher looks shocked, surprised even, for a second before his usual frown reappears and his eyes narrow. "Mistress has told Kreacher never ever _not_ to–"

"Your Mistress is _dead_ ," Sirius says bluntly and Kreacher flinches. "Go fucking get it. I want to see him. "

Kreacher doesn't like having this conversation with Sirius. Not in the slightest. So he obeys and leaves the room just to pop back couple minutes later. With some difficulties the house elf manages to put the large, flat object on the chair next to Sirius'. Kreacher glances at Sirius for some sort of confirmation.

"What're you staring at?" Sirius snarls before he waves his hand dismissingly. "Just get the fuck out, Kreacher. Go scrub the second floor corridor or something."

Kreacher grumbles something disdainful under his breath and scampers away before Sirius can throw more orders at him. Truth be spoken, if it was really up to Sirius, Kreacher would be launched to the moon or something similar instead of being kept at the house.

But now Sirius' attention is now fully fixated on the object. It's covered by dark green cloth. Satin, Sirius notes as he runs his hand over it. He grabs the cloth and pulls it off, leaving it hanging on the edges of the frame, and reveals the prestige painting beneath. The dust clouds float in the air before slowly settling down on the nearest surfaces.

The painting is only half of the size of Walburga Black's portrait that occupies the long hallway. The dark haired youth in the painting blinks once, then twice, and then finally lets his eyes wander around the room, scrutinizing his surroundings with apparent distaste. He looks just like Sirius remembers.

"Regulus," Sirius says, his voice slurring only a little, and draws the man's attention on him. The man in the portrait tilts his head, his eyes squinting suspiciously.

"Sirius?" Regulus' confusion is evident as he stares at his now considerably older brother in both surprise and shock before his expression sobers down and his eyes narrow once more. "Are you… drunk?"

Sirius lets out a barking laugh. Of course his Reggie would also _act_ just like he remembers. And though Sirius hears enough about his unhealthy drinking habits from Remus and Molly whenever they visit him, he doesn't get mad when Regulus mentions his drunkenness. Not that getting mad at a painting would help his situation anyway.

"Always the voice of reason," Sirius laughs. He empties the bottle with one long sip and wiggles his eyebrows teasingly at his brother.

Regulus rolls his eyes but there is a small smile playing on his lips. "You'll have a hangover tomorrow," he states matter-of-factly but his tone gives away that he is happy to see his brother.

"I'll burn that bridge when I get to it," Sirius hums and fetches the bottle he had hidden – because of Molly snooping around his kitchen – from the cupboard's top shelf behind canned beans.

Regulus raises a brow. "Are you sure you got that saying right?" he asks, frowning disapprovingly when Sirius uncorks the bottle and takes back his usual place at the end of the table.

"Of course I got it right," Sirius snorts, raising the bottle mockingly. "Drink, regret, and repeat. I would offer you a drink but you're barely legal. Cheers!"

"Well, thank you for the observation Mr. States the Obvious," Regulus says. "But since when have you followed the rules? Who died and made you the Queen?" he asks playfully.

"Our parents, actually," Sirius replies in all seriousness. " _My_ roof," he adds with a smirk, " _my_ rules."

Regulus' brows knit together. "You live here."

It's a statement, not a question, but Sirius doesn't need to be told that Regulus is confused. Past-Sirius would be, too.

Sirius takes a gulp. He hadn't chosen to live in this house. Damn, if it was up to him he would stay as far as possible from it. But there he is, in the house of his parents, talking to the portrait of his dead brother. For once he can thank his mother and whoever from the Order had kept their eye on her. She had, after all, been the one who had ordered the portrait in her moment of grief years ago. And then made Kreacher hide it.

"You know," Sirius starts, twirling the liquid in the bottle, "I drink to make other people more interesting. And my life, but that's a minor thing," he adds sarcastically. "But hey! As a wanted man with a very limited social circle I can't really complain."

Regulus crosses his arms in his portrait. He leans on the frame, brows furrowing, but he doesn't question Sirius' words aloud. He has missed decade or two. No wonder some things have changed along the way. Had Sirius eventually joined the Death Eaters and is now hiding from them for reasons untold? Regulus knows that doesn't sound like Sirius but he doesn't dare to ask if that's the case.

Sirius frowns. "I'll hang you on the wall next to our dear old mother if you don't drop that look," Sirius says and points at Regulus with the whiskey bottle. "What'll you say about that, huh?

"What are you?" Regulus laughs haughtily. "Twelve?"

"Yeah, on a scale from one to ten," Sirius says with a slight slur, puffing his chest proudly and earning an eye roll from his brother. "But no, seriously," he continues. "I know that look. You're overthinking something and I can hear whatever wheels are turning in that head of yours. You're dead wrong."

Regulus grins. "I think I'm dead adorable."

Sirius doesn't laugh. He grumbles something, tightening his grip of the bottle and pours himself a glass which he then drains at one lengthy swig. For courage, he assures himself.

"Dead. Yeah, how did you die by the way?" Sirius asks lightly but his face has gone expressionless. "Where's your body?"

Regulus knew that the question was coming sooner or later but he hadn't guessed he would be the one to trigger it this time. He shakes his head and smiles softly at his brother.

"I'm a painting, you ass," Regulus jokes feebly. "I have no knowledge about the location of my body nor how I did, in fact, die." He sighs, suddenly sounding tired. "You should stop drinking, Sirius," he says when Sirius ignores his glass and returns drinking straight from the bottle.

"It's a war out there," Sirius scoffs. "I'm old. I'm tired. I think I'm entitled to."

So the war still rages, Regulus muses with a sad smile. Had his death been in vain? Hadn't Kreacher managed to destroy the Horcrux? He pushes away the urge to call for the house elf and ask about the locket. Sirius sways when he stands up. The crestfallen expression crosses his face and soon there are two empty bottles on the table instead of one. There isn't more to drink. Remus had better bring him more when he comes to visit.

"Sirius."

Sirius turns his eyes at Regulus, moving his hand on the green satin cloth.

"I wish I could fight by your side."

Sirius stiffens and forces back down the sip of whiskey that he'd just swallowed. He quickly tries to compose himself, bring a smile back to his face. Keep his cool and not falter with his words. He doesn't quite succeed.

"I wish for that, too."

The darkness embraces Regulus once more. He doesn't see his brother break apart.


	28. I Cannot Go Neither Would I Want To

Name: I Cannot Go; Neither Would I Want To

Summary: Once upon a time in Paris Teddy falls asleep, Louis likes poetry, and a thunderstorm rages. /Post-Hogwarts Next-Gen, slight Teddy/Louis with a passing mention of Tedoire.

Season/Round: S3FR1 – _Pairing Diversity_

A/N: Teddy/Louis is one of my Next-Gen OTPs. I wanted to write it the second our team claimed Teddy as our character. I suppose I got a good score of this but who knows.

Beta: Erbkaiser

Characters: Teddy Lupin, Louis Weasley

Team's Chosen Character: Teddy Lupin

My Secondary: Louis Weasley

Optional Prompts:

2\. (setting) Paris

9\. (atmosphere) weathe -mixer light-thunderstorm

13\. (poem) 'The Night Is Darkening Round Me' by Emily Bronte

* * *

A flash comes first, only to be followed by a crack of thunder. I knew the storm was coming, I mutter silently, trudging up the flights of stairs in soaked clothes. In my defense, the dark clouds had been hanging on the sky since morning and the rain could, or could not, have started at any time.

I march inside the spacious penthouse the moment the door is opened, leaving traces of dirt everywhere I step.

Louis sighs at the sight. "Make yourself at home, Teddy." I can hear the not so subtle hint of sarcasm in his voice when he closes the door.

I kick my boots off when he casts a scouring charm. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that," I say.

He simply waves me off. "There are towels in the closet and–"

"Hey, I already know where everything is," I say, turning back to ruffle his hair. "Go read a book or something. I need to take a shower."

"I'll be in the living room. There's tea in the kettle, if you want some."

The shower was a good idea, and even though the dry, borrowed clothes feel strange against my damp skin they are still far more pleasant than my drenched ones. The flannel pants hang low on my hips and the v-neck t-shirt makes me look less rebellious than my old leather jacket does. I wipe my face with a towel. A simple charm would do, but I'm not overly fond of using magic for such simple tasks as drying myself. So, I let my hair stay wet and the droplets trickle down the back of my neck and cool down.

" _The night is darkening round me,_

 _The wild winds coldly blow;_

 _But a tyrant spell has bound me,_

 _And I cannot, cannot go."_

I stand close enough to the window to feel the cold of the November air. It's chilly and the hair on my arms is already sticking up like the scruff of an angered cat, but I refuse to move away from the embrasure. The raindrops stain the glass, making the sharp, colorful lights seem so blurred. The rain strums a beat against the rooftop, an erratic rhythm accompanied by the loud roars of thunder once in a while. I wish for snow to come early this year.

I don't find the sound of rain completely unpleasant. Not as much as I find the feeling of being trapped inside four walls, at least. I've always been more of a free spirit, I'm always moving. Always going somewhere. Always leaving people behind. Never staying longer than necessary.

But I like staying in Paris.

Louis leans on the sofa. His lips move but I can barely make out the words he's saying. He sits on the floor, cocooned inside blankets, and his knees pulled close to his face. I doubt the position is a comfortable one, but I don't hear him complain. His wand is inches away from him but he hasn't blocked out the sound of the storm. It makes him feel at home here, he says. The sound of water falling down from the sky reminds him of the waves coming crashing to the shore. But of course la Seine can't compare to the vicious sea, not even when the whole Paris is under a storm. This place isn't the Shell Cottage.

" _The giant trees are bending_

 _Their bare boughs weighed with snow;_

 _The storm is fast descending,_

 _And yet I cannot go."_

I smirk when Louis quirks his eyebrow and glances my way before returning to his book. He's reading aloud, the nerdy Ravenclaw he is. Some poetry collection this time, from his library I bet. The white walls are covered in books. There seem to be more every time I visit.

The thunder cracks over the house. The rain doesn't seem close to stopping any time soon.

Louis hasn't cut his hair since the last time I saw him. He pushes the wisps of hair away from his face, looking mildly irritated when they fall right back to hide his eyes. What's with the Weasley-Delacours and their abnormally effeminate hair anyway? And he's almost as tall as I am – which should be illegal since both James and Hugo have both grown taller than me and I know it sounds very petty but I definitely want to stay taller than Louis.

" _Clouds beyond clouds above me,_

 _Wastes beyond wastes below;_

 _But nothing drear can move me;_

 _I will not, cannot go."_

I ditch the towel and make my way to Louis. I plop down ungracefully next to him, grinning as I steal the blankets, just to wrap them around the both of us. I snuggle closer and my arm makes its way around his waist. Now this is where I like to be. I press my face on the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent of salty sea, wind, and old parchment.

"Teddy." His voice neutral, but the twinkling in his eyes gives away he likes the intimacy. "You're freezing."

I snicker at that, caressing his ankle with my toes. "I know," I drawl, feeling especially accomplished when he shivers. "Warm me up."

Louis lets out a small sigh, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "Maybe that's not a good idea," he says with a grin. "Do you want anything to eat?" he asks. "There's takeout in the fridge."

"Mmm," I hum, nibbling Louis' shoulder. "I'd rather eat you."

"Teddy!" Louis shouts, scandalized, and hits me straight on my head with the book. Did you think that poetry is light reading? Well, it's not. "Remember whose sister you're dating!"

"Aww, can't I have you both?" I joke, laughing even harder when Louis glares at me with a bitch face. "Sorry, sorry!" I laugh, rubbing my head. "No, I'm not hungry."

Even after my slightly inappropriate comment, Louis doesn't move away when I lean on him. He just adjusts the blankets and opens the book again.

"Hey, can you read that last poem again?" I ask, nudging his knee lightly. "The one you read just a while ago?"

"You didn't listen the first time I read it, did you?" he asks softly. I simply shrug, pressing my head on his shoulder. I hear him sigh but the sound of pages turning makes me smile. "Okay, here we go," he says. _"The night is darkening round me…"_

And I let his voice lull me to sleep.


	29. Madness Does Not Exclude Love

Name: Madness Does _Not_ Exclude Love

Summary: Only the mad can work in the library. Madam Pince meets her successor.

Season/Round: S3SF – _Support Staff_

A/N: And welcome to the semi finals. This round we got to show our love to one and only Irma Pince (more difficult than it sounds) and in the end we won Harpies by one point.

Beta: Erbkaiser

Characters: Madam Irma Pince, OC-Ellen Page

Team's Assigned Character: Madam Pince

CHASER 3: Write about your member of staff's last day on the job

Optional Prompts:

6\. (picture) www . /wp-content/uploads/2012/12/Photo-Dec-04-4-03-11-PM .jpg (a parcel)

11\. (picture) www . .jpg (wilted flowers)

15\. (restriction) No question marks

* * *

 _"Libraries are our friends."_

― Neil Gaiman

* * *

The silence has fallen to the library.

It is, of course, what Irma usually desires. No babbling, chattering children who leave their nasty fingerprints on the pages of her precious books and who are never careful enough with the oldest tomes and their fragile bindings. So carefree, always thinking that if they damage a book it can be easily replaced. Tearing and marking the pages, scarring the books as if they can't feel a thing!

The silence is louder than the noise. Irma sits behind her desk, her arms folded in her lap and eyes closed. She's listening to the library. It's her madness.

She has opened her retirement present from the other staff. A book, of course, had been wrapped in dull brown paper with a white string and she appreciates the simplicity of it, as she has never been one to care for such niceties. She has cleaned her quarters and the library and packed all her belongings. Every fine feathered quill, every bottle of ink, and all her personal books are strictly on their places in her three valises. Rolls of new parchment and a collection of Witch Weekly magazines she never showed anyone, too. Robes and photographs are all packed. Only a vase full of wilted roses remains.

Soon it'll be as if Irma Pince had never set foot in there.

For decades she was what she will always be: a librarian. For many Hogwarts is their only true home, and at a time like this, Irma feels she is one of them. She is a tired woman with an aching back and greying hair and she just wants to spend a moment longer with the library.

For the first time in years she feels somehow hollow. She's retiring. It's her last day. She's about to leave the place that has become so precious to her that through years of people mistreating it, through a bloody war even, she has always stayed to protect it. Like Professor Sprout has her greenhouses and Madam Hooch has her Quidditch pitch, the library has always been there for Madam Pince.

It has always been a part of her, but she realizes that she has not always been part of the library. The library has always had someone worthy; someone who looks after it. Year after year, the library has always found someone who can hear how alive it is, but Irma is still afraid. Maybe this time there will be no one as worthy as she is.

And Irma can hear how the library breathes.

The door creaks. Irma sits up straighter and her eyes, sharp as ever for a woman of her age, dart at the newcomer. The witch is young, tall, and freckled. She has three bright feathers on her hat and her unruly curls almost touch her shoulders. From her head to her toes she's dressed in the autumn colours.

She glances around the dimly lit room before stepping forward with her tiny suitcase. "Oh," is all she says when she notices Irma.

"You shouldn't be here, my dear," Irma says sharply but by no means maliciously, dusting her dress as she stands up. "The library is closed."

"I heard about it," the young witch says. "The librarian has retired, that's why I'm here."

Irma arches her eyebrow, her eyes squinting. The young witch has some nerve to talk to her like that. "The correct term is retiring," Irma says as casually as she can muster at the moment. "I'm still here, as you can see. I think I didn't even hear you introducing yourself to me."

The witch's face reddens in embarrassment. "Oh. Oh! I didn't realise, I'm terribly sorry," she says quickly when Irma approaches her. "You're Madam Pince. I'm Ellen Page, ma'am. I'm the new librarian." She inhales sharply, eyes widening at shock. "No, that came out wrong! I am the will-be-librarian. Your successor."

"Yes, I think I got who you say you are, thank you."

Irma's tone is almost weary as she studies the young witch. She doesn't know what to think about young Miss Ellen Page yet. A librarian, she said. It wouldn't even be up to her to decide that. No one can just decide to be a librarian. The library decides the librarian, just like the wand chooses its bearer. The librarian is one with the library, a living part of it, not just someone who works there.

The magic from every inch of the library, from the creaky floorboards to the furthermost corner of the Restricted Section, must be heard and understood. Not anyone can do that.

"I suspect that you know what it means to be a librarian," Irma starts in a steady voice, "especially here at Hogwarts. Only the mad can work in the library." Her voice cracks in the end.

Ellen puts her suitcase down and takes a few steps forward until she's directly in front of Irma.

"Madam Pince," Ellen takes Irma's wrinkly hands in hers. They are surprisingly warm, Irma notes, her abdominals clenching at the sudden intrusion of her personal space. "I know what you're trying to say," Ellen says, carefully picking her words, but never breaking the eye contact. "I can hear it, too. I can hear the library breathing. Hearing it is not madness. It's _love_."

Irma sucks in a breath, a sudden warmth spreading in her chest. She never expected to hear those words. Her eyes twinkle with mirth. She couldn't hear it a moment ago, but now the will of the library echoes through the walls, clear as day.

"Well then, Miss Page," Irma says quietly, radiating happiness and squeezing Ellen's hands before she lets go and briskly walks back to her desk. "Luckily I have some free time today, starting–"

Irma flicks her wand, lighting up the space. Ellen stares at her in amazement.

"–right now. I shall introduce you to the library."

"I wouldn't really want to bother you, ma'am," Ellen starts, her voice soft but joyful, only to be shushed by Irma. The old librarian smiles widely, her cheeks aching. She feels younger, _lighter_ , than she has in a long time.

"It's my last day," Irma says and strolls back to Ellen's side. "I think I'm entitled to do just that."

She'll make her last day count.


	30. To Light Your Life

Name: To Light Your Life

Summary: "You have no idea how easy it is to fall back into the darkness." Having continuous nightmares, Draco has been living in his personal darkness ever since the war ended. Blaise is slowly guiding him back to light. /Post-War, Draco/Blaise.

Season/Round: S3FINAL – _A Sign of Respect – Pride of Portree vs. Montrose Magpies_

A/N: The very last round of season 3. I wrote about my opposing chaser's favourite pairing or character, which in this case was Draco/Blaise. In the end we won (it was only by few points) and Montrose Magpies were crowned the Season 3 winners and added to the Hall of Fame. I had a blast during this season and (as the try-outs for the Season 4 are currently on the way) I hope we will do well this season as well.

Characters: Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, other characters mentioned.

Beta: Jordi (erbkaiser)

Prompt: Write about your opposing player's favourite pairing or character.

Optional prompts:

 **5.** (quote) "You have no idea how easy it is to fall back into the darkness" - Hook, _Once Upon A Time_

 **8.** (dialogue) "It all worked out in the end."

 **11.** (emotion) pride

* * *

"It all worked out in the end," Blaise tends to say. Whatever happens, he can say it. They're his lucky charm, those seven little words. Maybe they mean nothing because Blaise uses them so carelessly.

Or maybe they mean the world.

* * *

The war hadn't been kind to Draco.

He had fallen in between two very distinct worlds after the war. He had no place to be, but he was still there. He existed, if nothing more, on the edge of the grey area. He was locked there – not forgotten, not forgiven, but swept away.

His father, who had chosen the dark side in his youth, would now rot in a cell in Azkaban for his crimes against the Wizarding World. That was something Draco could handle. He had been mentally preparing himself for that since the moment Harry revealed himself to be alive. He had expected he would face the same fate as his father; a sentence in Azkaban with all the other Death Eaters.

But what he hadn't added into the equation of unfortunate events was Narcissa Malfoy. His mother, who became a celebrated war hero and the woman who after playing a crucial role in the downfall of the Dark Lord, had been welcomed back to the light side with open arms. That was something Draco hadn't seen coming.

It had thrown everything off balance.

Draco was lost, barely able to concentrate on his own trial. He would have preferred being one of the casualties. The first months after the war went by in a blur and he was alone, so alone with the dark thoughts in his head, he preferred lying in his bed for days. Just lying there, but not sleeping. He hated the idea of closing his eyes and seeing the war flashing in front of his eyes. Sometimes he was sure he felt Voldemort watching him.

Narcissa's attempts to help were in vain, no matter how hard she tried, and so Draco remained lost in his own, private darkness.

* * *

The seventh anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts is approaching with its yearly festivities but not everyone is excited.

Draco tosses and turns in his bed, linen sheets tangling with his limbs and gluing onto his skin. He wakes up with a jolt, visibly shaken as his eyes dart around the darkened room. The silence is deafening. He clumsily swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He exhales as he hunches forward, pressing his elbows against his legs. He runs a shaky hand through his hair before hiding his face behind his palms as a way to try composing himself. The floor is cold against his feet. It is a comforting sensation but not nearly enough calm his nerves. He wipes away the sheen of sweat from his forehead.

Night terrors are nothing new to him as they happen more often than he wants to admit but that doesn't mean he enjoys having them. They make him feel weak and helpless. The aftermath, waking up from a nightmare, is always proving itself a capable of paralyzing him.

He flicks his fringe from his eyes, sighing deeply. His hair has grown longer during the past year and the fine platinum colour has dulled over the time. He knows he needs to shave as well. He just doesn't feel like it. He doesn't feel like attending the annual ball with his mother, either, even though he has already declined her invitation four years in a row. She always asks him anyway.

Draco feels bad for not going with her, he really does, but the thought of socializing with people seems so foreign to him. Draco doesn't notice he's chewing the tip of his thumb – a newly acquired nervous habit of his – until the bitter taste wakes up his taste buds. He groans, wiping the small trickle of blood away.

"Draco."

They were meant to be equals, united by the blood they shared – the purest there were among the families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and beyond – and by the beliefs they were ready to stand behind, and yet Draco flinches when he is touched.

Draco shifts in discomfort. "Blaise." Draco's voice is calm but barely loud enough to be heard and he looks at Blaise over his shoulder. "I didn't mean to wake you up again." His chest clenches, his dream plaguing his mind.

 _You have no idea how easy it is to fall back into the darkness._

Blaise sits upright and shrugs, as if saying he doesn't really mind. His eyes rove over Draco's face, looking for any sort of confirmation of Draco's thoughts. His friend – Draco still insists they call themselves just friends – has always been like that. Too proud to admit he needs help, even when his face shows all the signs of distress.

And it's that pride that makes Draco turn away from Blaise. He can handle his nightmares, he knows he can. He had been just fine even before Blaise returned to his life after a few years' absence after the war, with his fancy decree and expensive suit. He had even felt some sort of smug satisfaction when he had for the first time turned Blaise away from his doorstep.

"Look at me." Blaise doesn't beg. He never does, he's too proud for that. He's as commanding as Draco is stubborn. One of them has to yield, and Blaise is pleased that this time it's Draco. Blaise opens his arms. "It's alright. Come here."

Draco huffs but scoots closer to Blaise and returns under the covers. Blaise leans on the headboard and Draco instead leans on him, trying to find a comfortable position. Blaise smiles faintly. His arm finds its way around Draco's shoulders and he slowly starts running his fingers through Draco's hair.

"I had a nightmare," Draco admits quietly after several minutes. Blaise just hums, encouraging Draco to continue. "It was– I was–" Draco trails off, shaking his head. "I don't really want to talk about it, Blaise."

"I understand," Blaise says shortly. "Just tell me when you're ready and I will listen."

Draco nods. He allows himself to relax a as Blaise presses a kiss on his forehead.

In a way, even after almost four years they are still taking baby steps but the progress exceeds their minor drawbacks. Narcissa is satisfied with their pace. Draco doesn't talk to her about his dreams, nor does he like to show his weaknesses to her. Narcissa is alright with that, has been a while. She can't point exact moment when Blaise started pulling Draco from the darkness but she remembers the first time Draco smiled in a long, long time.

* * *

"But at what cost?" Draco has taken into a habit of saying. He murmurs, his eyes half-lidded and already closing. The sentence doesn't really fit into his vocabulary.

Blaise isn't sure if Draco is talking about his continuous nightmares, or the ruined marriage of his parents, or all the people who lost their lives during the war. But whatever it is, Blaise will be there to listen whenever Draco feels like talking.


	31. Pranksters, Bullies, and the Clique

Name: Pranksters, Bullies, and the Clique of Talentless Douche Nozzles

Summary: Avery is smarter than he looks. He's a brilliant prankster and a skilled wizard but his grades are never higher than Acceptable. He likes to blame his group of friends for that. After all, the nail that sticks up is the one that gets hammered down and it's so much easier to just hide his talents. /Marauders' Era

Season/Round: S4R1 — Where My Death Eaters At?

Score: 6/10

A/N: New season, same team, and my round. Like, literally my round. During the last season, I won the Daily Prophet competition where the winner's round would be the first round of season 4. For this round, I ended up writing about Avery (I had written about him last season during the DP competition, as well, though it focused more on Mulciber). The round had the 'no wreaking havoc' rule (yes, I'm familiar with that rule) but I found pranking to be acceptable, because a small prank can't be compared to the Death Eater attack of '94 at the Quidditch World Cup, right?

Beta: Erbkaiser

Characters: Avery, Mulciber, Mary Macdonald, others mentioned.

Chaser 3 prompt: Write about your chosen Death Eater being at school.

Optional prompts:

8\. (quote) "People in their right minds never take pride in their talents." - Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

12\. (class) Herbology

15\. (dialogue) "I should warn you..."

* * *

When Avery first started at Hogwarts he encountered his fair share of different people.

He met suck-up Prefects, pathetic Charms nerds, unfriendly rich kids, desperate wannabes, gillyweed-and-cookies junkies, brainless jocks, future MoM employees, and countless others. So many he couldn't even keep up with them. And none of them felt like family to him. So it took a while before he even realized, he, too, had become a part of a clique.

Avery had just been hanging around with Mulciber, who was even more out of place than he was, when few older students asked them to join them in the Great Hall. Sit with them, have breakfast with them, talk with them. Most of them had been his house-mates from Slytherin, but there were a select few Ravenclaws who were around from time to time. It seemed like they had known exactly who they were and what they were doing. Misfits and schemers with a peculiar sense of humour, pranking people and causing trouble in classes and corridors by bending the rules. They laughed when they got caught, _if they got caught_ , and never apologized. They were smart and funny, cunning and confident, and wherever they went people moved out of their way. Detentions meant nothing to them. Young Avery had thought they were cool. The whole idea of being their friend made him feel giddy. They were the elite of the school. The best and the mightiest. Avery liked to call them his heroes; pranksters he could look up to.

They were awesome and cool, all that and more, and the other groups called them bullies.

* * *

 _Oh well, they weren't completely wrong when they first called them that back in the end of their second year_ , Avery admitted one day when Mulciber tried to charm a Snargaluff hybrid to shoot its pods at the Gryffindors. A brilliant prank idea, not entirely Mulciber's own, though. Sirius Black did almost the same thing last week in Potions by making Snape's cauldron explode. Too bad he and Potter were both skiving off this time. There hadn't been a decent prank war between houses since last Halloween.

"I should warn you," Mulciber muttered through a predatory grin, gripping his wand tightly in his big shovel-like hand, "this class is gonna end in tears."

Avery refrained from rolling his eyes at that. They were, for once, not in any of the greenhouses but in a classroom in the second floor. Professor Sprout had moved a few of her new, experimental plant hybrids there for students to examine. They were supposed to be writing notes and sketching the plants, as there were sure to be questions about them in the exam in few weeks, but touching them was entirely forbidden. She was sauntering around the class, not paying attention to Mulciber's mumbling.

The whole scenario was taking too long and by now half of the Slytherins in class were watching Mulciber like a hawk. Avery gnawed on his quill. Of course he knew Mulciber would never succeed in the spell. Charms had never been his forte, nor had anything that required much precise wand work, really. But while watching his friend getting frustrated was one way to spend a lesson, it was by far not the most engrossing. But he couldn't let a great prank slide now, could he?

He waved his wand under the table, whispering an incantation under his breath. The plant, previously so calm and harmless, began viciously attacking the students close to it and its long vines whipped through the air like helicopter blades. It shot its pods at the group of Gryffindors before anyone could react. Mary Macdonald cried out in horror when half dozen pods hit her on her head and back in their slimy glory and got stuck in her long brown hair and robes. A few others got hit as well, but not nearly as badly.

Mulciber hollered, his laughter being the loudest and booming around the classroom even when the other Slytherins joined in. Professor Sprout tried to calm the plant down and console the weeping and sticky Macdonald, barely knowing which one she should pay more attention to. Mulciber grinned at Avery in almost manic manner, jumping up and down on his seat. Avery gave his best mate an appreciating smirk, letting Mulciber keep thinking he had finally performed the spell correctly.

Lily Evans was already glaring daggers at them from the other side of the class, knowing it had been either Avery or Mulciber who had angered the plant. Mulciber nudged Snape, still snickering and pointing at the Gryffindors. Evans looked positively murderous and Snape looked down in shame, looking like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole when Evans' eyes met his. If Snape wasn't so good at Potions, Avery doubted they would have kept him in their group of friends. They - and by 'they' Avery meant the others - needed someone to copy their homework from. Avery smirked. Friends of not, Mulciber, Rosier, and Wilkes were far from the class' more intelligent folk, and sometimes it was such a shame professors and other students bunched him up with them. Mulciber at least had some snark, but Wilkes was just a pushover with a bulky build and Rosier was more harm than he was worth.

Sometimes Avery just couldn't help but feel so much better than the rest of them. He was good at several subjects - Herbology and Charms included - but he intended to keep his vast knowledge of those subjects to himself. It was a two edged sword, he had to admit. No one would know how smart he actually was. But that was fine, he kept telling himself. He packed up his notes when the class was dismissed, swiftly straightened the strap of his bag and joined Mulciber and Wilkes in the corridor.

"Did you see it? I knew the charm would work!" Mulciber grinned proudly, throwing his arm over Avery's shoulders. "And I told you it was gonna end in tears."

"Sure, you did," Avery said, lips curling into a sneer.

Prankster or not, no matter how well done his work, people in their right minds never take pride in their talents.


	32. Breakaway

Name: Breakaway

Summary: Severus likes shiny things, like very small glimmering rocks and new pennies and aluminium wrappers. Shining bright things with no actual value. Things like trash. Lily is trash, too, (but not really) and she's the brightest of them all. / / Snily friendship, Pre-Marauders Era.

Season/Round: S4R3 — Word Restricted Team Pride

Score: 5.5/10

A/N: The last round (Round 2) was our BYE. It was rare to have a bye round this early, and we were dropped to the bottom of the ladder because of it. It will take us couple rounds to get back on our wings. Speaking of wings, this round 4 is a team pride round and we are, obviously, still the Magpies. Magpies are believed to collect shiny objects. I don't have any actual magpies in this story, but I transferred that trait to Severus Snape, whom I saw fit for the part. Lyrics are from Kelly Clarkson's song "Breakaway" and this round's story is named after it.

Beta: Erbkaiser

Characters: Severus Snape, Lily Evans, Petunia Evans.

Round prompt: Show some team pride! This round's focus was on using our team name as a prompt. In our case, as we are the Montrose Magpies, that word was _ma_ _gpie(s)._ Each team member was also given a word count restriction to work with. No two members of the same team were allowed to use the same word count. My word count restriction was 2001-2250

Optional prompts:

5\. (quote) 'All we have to decide is what to do with the time given to us' - JRR Tolkien

8\. (colour) lilac

15\. (word) cosmos

* * *

 _Grew up in a small town / /_ _And when the rain would fall down_

 _I'd just stare out my window_

 _Dreamin' of what could be / /_ _And if I'd end up happy_

 _I would pray_

 _Trying hard to reach out / /_ _But when I tried to speak out_

 _Felt like no one could hear me_

 _Wanted to belong here / /_ _But something felt so wrong here_

 _So I pray_

 _I could breakaway_

* * *

In a way, I feel I'm like a magpie. Inside and out, now that I think about it. I have a sharp nose and pale complexion. Too big clothes, more often than not they're dark grey or black, because then the stains won't stand out so much. I like high places like our roof and the old windmill on the hill nearby.

But more than anything I like bright things, like very small glimmering rocks and new pennies and aluminium wrappers. Shining bright things with no actual value. Trash, people call them. I keep them hidden in a cardboard box under my bed. I like the rays of sun that escape through the veil of clouds the most, but I can't keep pick those up from the street for myself like I would want to. It's not like the sun shines around here that much anyway. It's like the light avoids this side of the river.

What I don't like are the rain and the dimly lit rooms.

Right now it's raining like it will never stop.

Rain pours down with all its power into every nook and cranny of the old houses, trying to find a way through the roofs and walls, and often succeeding in it. The clouds won't go away. They stay high up in the sky, dark and looming, and block out the rays of the sun. I've witnessed the puddles growing larger each passing day. My socks are enough proof of that. They are drying on top of the radiator in my room where my Father can't find them. He doesn't know my newer shoes have holes, too. What he doesn't know, doesn't hurt him. What he doesn't know, doesn't hurt _me_.

Water stains the window. Lone driplets join their brothers and sisters, making little paths down the glass as if they were ants following the same narrow trails to their home. It's their never ending march. The rain continues and no ray of sun hits the ground. It makes me sad. I exhale. The small puff of breath is enough to mist the glass and I quickly wipe it away. I stop and stare. My reflection seems so twisted with the trickles on the glass. I look like I'm crying, but I'm not. I'm not crying. It's not me crying, it's just the sky. I glance at my treasure box underneath my bed, and there behind my Mother's old school books is her priced Gobstones set.

I wipe my face with my hands. I don't dare to admit that the wetness on my cheeks was not from the rain. Spinner's End is far from a place where I'd want to be or stay. Not with my drunken Father and miserable Mother.

Not where the brightest things are your tears, beer bottles, and tarnished belt buckles.

* * *

Lily Evans is my first, best, and only real friend.

She is smart and pretty and she has magic like I do. I haven't yet met her parents, only her older sister, but she's insisting I stay for dinner some day. I don't know if I can, even if I want to. She hasn't met my parents, either, but that's because I simply don't want her to. So I often come to pick her up from her neighbourhood because I don't want her anywhere near my home. She doesn't need to know where I live or with whom. It's easier that way. I don't want her pity. I want us to stay friends and that could ruin it all. Or she would understand and help me get through these months until we can go to Hogwarts together, but I'm not ready to take that step yet. Maybe later.

In the summer, the street she lives in is like a living canvas. The sun paints everything with a warm hue. Pinks and reds of the various summer flowers like cosmoses and cranesbills take turns with lilacs and whites of lush _Syringa_ trees, not forgetting the beautiful multi-coloured pansies and tulips and proudly standing oaks and apple trees. Each lawn is freshly mowed with the scent of cut grass hanging in the air. Each house nice and homely and so inviting. Nothing is dark and dusty with sharp corners and broken pavings. It's soft and earthly and so much like magic it makes me grin in glee as we explore all the area. Sometimes the old man walks by the street with a Half-Kneazle. From what I've seen they're hunting for Bowtruckles. The hedges are full of them.

But then, after weeks of sunshine, came the rain.

Rain makes everything worse. It had been an almost rainless summer prior to Tuesday, and just yesterday I promised Lily that I would take her to the upper reaches of the river where the water is clearer and almost warm enough to swim in. She has never been there because it takes almost an hour by foot. We planned to skip stones, maybe even try to catch frogs or small newts for fun. Father hadn't been happy the last time I went out when it was raining, but I would never let Lily down. Not when I have promised her something and I have a reason to not be at home. _Maybe we could hang out at her house today_ , I think as I put on my shoes, _and then go to the river later this week?_

The walk to Lily's place feels somehow longer in rain, I wonder why that is, as I trudge forward. Lily is outside in her green jacket, plaid skirt and rain boots, sopping wet from her head to her toes. She shouldn't have been alone in the rain. She'll get ill. Don't her parents care at all? Lily always says good things about them, and I know they aren't like my parents. They seem like good people. So does she maybe want to get wet? But that's ridiculous, she can't seriously –

Lily jumps from one puddle to another, splashing water around and laughing loudly. Okay, she definitely wants to get wet.

"Sev!" she calls when she notices me. My shoes make sloshing noises when I walk towards her. Finally there is only one big puddle between us and I can ask her why she is out in the rain.

"Because it hasn't been raining in ages, silly!"Lily replies easily. "And it will probably end soon and then I don't know when it'll rain again!" She grins, glancing first at me and then at the puddle. I don't like what she's thinking right now. I take a hesitant step away from her. "All we have to decide," she jumps and giggles when the water hits me, "is what to do with the time given to us! So come on, Sev! Jump with me!"

I take the offered hand, rolling my eyes and letting Lily pull me to the puddle with her. The dirt water is chilly but the rain is warm and I don't feel cold when I splash the water at Lily. Water gets in my shoes and soaks my socks, as if they weren't wet already, but we're having so much fun I barely notice the wetness at all. There isn't a dry spot on my clothes when we stop and the humidity makes my hair curl ridiculously but thankfully Lily doesn't laugh at me, because she looks very much the same. Right then I don't hate rain. I hate it only when I'm alone. With Lily, rain makes me want to burst out laughing because we look ludicrous with our light clothes sticking to our skin and dirt smeared cheeks.

"You know what," Lily starts, flipping her dripping wet bangs off her face, "I think we have ice cream in the freezer!"

"Ice cream in the rain?" I ask suspiciously, eyes squinting. "Really, Lily? Why?"

"Because, why not? Because it's summer? Because Mum just bought strawberry popsicles when I told her you've never had any?"

"Lily!" I stare at her, flabbergasted. "You didn't need to tell her that!"

"But I did," says Lily with a wide toothy grin. "Let's go."

The Evans family lives in a red brick house with a white fence and an apple tree. Very homely, if not so scary. I gulp, following Lily to the door. I know I don't look my best today but meeting Lily's parents looking like this... Suddenly I feel very out of place.

"Are your parents home?" I ask timidly before coming further in after her. I look around, my metaphorical tail between my legs. The colours in the hallway are warm and welcoming shades of brown and red. The lingering scent of booze I'm used to isn't present. I immediately like Lily's parents a bit more.

"No, only me and Tuney," Lily says, making me feel relieved. "Mum and Dad went to see Grandma in the hospital. Nothing serious," she adds quickly. She doesn't take her shoes off when hurries to the kitchen, leaving dirty footprints on the floor. I look at the kitchen from the hallway, pointing at the mess she made.

"What? Oh, I'll clean it later," she says, blushing lightly and opens the freezer. "It's no biggie."

Petunia, Lily's older sister, storms in the kitchen, having heard the door. "You – you _children_!" she shrieks pointing at the dirt and water all over the floor. I want to roll my eyes because she isn't that much older than us but I refrain from doing that. Petunia doesn't really like me and I don't want to give her any reasons to hate me more. She looks in disdain at my worn coat and mud covered shoes, a sneer forming on her face.

"Oh hi, Tuney," Lily says, two popsicles in hand. "You want a popsicle, too? Mum bought orange flavour just for you."

Petunia flushes angrily. "Keep your trashy popsicles," she hisses. "And your trashy friend." She turns around, throwing one last look at me and stomps away. "You're _both_ thrash! Messy, naughty, twisted little _freaks_!" she yells before we hear her slam a door upstairs.

Lily looks ashamed of her sister's outburst, even though we've both witnessed Petunia's mood swings a few times too many. She doesn't say anything before we're outside again. The rain has subsided for now, but the clouds still linger on the sky, painting it dark grey. Lily hums in thought and unwraps one popsicle.

"Here," she says, offering it to me before she starts opening her own. "One strawberry popsicle for you, one strawberry popsicle for me. And none for Tuney since she didn't want one and she's allergic to strawberries."

Lily's smile is contagious and I feel the corners of my mouth tugging upwards. Lily might be trash, (even though she's not, not really) but she is more like a glittering candy wrapper or a ring from an Easter egg than anything else people throw away. She shines so bright when she smiles like that. As trash she's not worth much, but I will be here to pick her up and keep her as if she is the world's most precious treasure.

"I'd like to make a toast!" Lily declares. She raises her popsicle in the air and beckoned me to do the same. "For our last summer before we go to Hogwarts and all the summers to follow!"

Because she is that and so much more to me.

She is my breakaway.

* * *

 _I'll spread my wings, and I'll learn how to fly_

 _I'll do what it takes till I touch the sky_

 _And I'll make a wish / /_ _Take a chance / /_ _Make a change_

 _And breakaway_


	33. Astronomic Measures

Name: Astronomic Measures

Season/Round: DPC2 — Hogwarts Subjects Poems

A/N: Since we Magpies had our BYE during the second round, we didn't have an assigned subject to write about during the Daily Prophet competition. I settled for Astronomy, which is, alongside Herbology, my favourite Hogwarts subject.

* * *

I whine and yawn and angrily glower

Why is the class held in the tallest tower?

There's so many stairs, who cares

These unholy hours are giving me grey hairs

I simply want to take a quick nap

But Sinistra is having none of that crap

I silently grumble and grab my telescope

Really should have picked a warmer robe

Stare at the sky, I can't even begin to scrape

The idea of using the astrolabe

Planets won't align, my star chart is a mess

Please give me a sign, this is giving me stress

The big one is moon, that much I've figured

Before the noon, I won't be leaving my bed

Skipping the 8:00 AM class, never getting a free pass

Since Professor Snape hates my sass

It'll be worth it in the end

Few more ours of sleep will be godsend.


	34. Girl on the Shore

Name: Girl on the Shore

Summary: Leva is one of the merpeople living in the Black Lake and every now and then she finds herself observing humans from afar. She has always liked their laughter, but seeing one cry is not something she's used to. / / Creature-fic, merperson centric, Riddle Era.

Season/Round: S4R4 — Creature Comforts

Score: 6.5/10

A/N: The merperson's name, Leva, comes from the Finnish word _levä_ (literally meaning _sea-weed_ ). The poem in the end is "Silent Tears" by Amanda Smith.

Beta: Erbkaiser

Characters: Leva the Merperson, Myrtle Warren, others.

Round prompt: Each member of the team had to pick one (no double claims) out of eight creatures listed (dementor, phoenix, centaur, merperson, house-elf, thestral, dragon, and owl) and write from the point of view of that chosen creature. I chose to write about a merperson.

OPTIONAL PROMPTS:

6\. (word) Stygian

8\. (dialogue) "Why am I crying? I'm so sick of crying."

10\. (setting) lake

* * *

They're laughing again, Leva thinks. She shoos away a distracting group of shoaling fish with a strong flick of her tail.

Her eyes narrow as she stares curiously at the group of witches. They are sitting on the shore near the water's edge, and all three of them are very pretty. That's Leva's humble opinion. To be honest, she has never seen an ugly human, but she has heard those exist, too. The Black Lake deepens quickly, making it dangerous for an inexperienced swimmer, so Leva isn't surprised that the witches just dangle their petite non-fins — feet, they call them— in the water.

Leva doesn't swim close to them; not because such thing would be forbidden, but because she wants to observe without being seen. She holds the half of her head over the water's surface, her eyes and skin having a hard time adjusting to the direct sunlight and dry air. Her seaweed-like hair sways slowly afloat, strongly resembling an algae formation and hiding her in the plain sight. Leva breathes bubbles in the water through her nose, concentrating on the words the humans say. Their words travel well across the water. Normally she would listen to them from underneath the surface, but the water muffles their voices.

Leva likes listening to human laughter, mostly because everything else coming from their mouths sounds like unintelligent babbling most of the time. But she also likes the little laughter lines and the way their eyes crinkle. Those things make observing and learning about humans worthwhile.

She understands a little bit of what the humans say. It's a common misconception that merpeople are so proud of Mermish that they haven't bothered to learn other languages. It would be ridiculous if she doesn't understand, especially after living her whole life in the Black Lake, which is practically surrounded by people. Leva doesn't speak human, though. Her tongue just doesn't bend that way, yet. She is learning fast, and maybe after few decades she would fluently speak human language. English, the Merchieftaines Murcus calls it. Though the Merchieftaines is very old and intelligent, Leva doesn't understand why Murcus purposely doesn't speak English unless she absolutely has to.

Merpeople are, in a way, misanthropes. Like centaurs, they prefer the company of their own kind or complete solitude. Not all of them, of course, but most of them.

A little further away from the three girls sits another girl. She is alone, curled up into a ball, trying so hard to make herself appear smaller. The tiny sounds she's making are something Leva finds hard to identify. This girl isn't laughing, that's for sure. The sounds remind her of the noises humans make underwater. Leva tilts her head sharply. The girl sounds like she's choking on something, but what is there — on the dry land — to choke on?

She swims closer to the shore to get a better look, small fish scurrying out of her way, and hides behind the reeds. The girl has those fascinating circular pieces of not-ice on her face and several wet streaks running down her cheeks. Her face twists into a grimace, eyes firmly shut but her mouth slightly ajar. She wipes the slime coming from her nose with the back her hand.

A group of students pass her by, predatory smiles on their faces.

"Hey, look! It's Myrtle the Miserable!"

"The Moaning Myrtle!"

"Going to kiss the Squid, Warren?"

"Don't be ridiculous! Even the Giant Squid would swim away if it saw her face!"

"Go back to the lavatory!"

The girl puts her hands over her ears, whimpering softly. Leva grinds her sharp teeth and glares at the group, yellow eyes flashing dangerously. She doesn't catch all the words, but she doesn't like the tone they are using. The sharpest voice belongs to a female and Leva wants to rip her into pieces with her teeth like she would do for a pike. The group yells something more before going their merry way. For once, Leva doesn't like the sound of the laughter.

"Why am I crying?" the girl whispers, wiping her eyes. "I'm so sick of crying." She punches the ground but the action is weak. "Crying doesn't help." Leva winces when the girl tries to laugh. The sound is strained, forced, and dies out soon. "I just wish someone would be one my side," the girl mumbles. "Just for once. But no one ever is. They would be better off without me."

The tone sends shivers down Leva's back, making the small scales on the back of her neck and around her gills stand up. She doesn't like the feeling. It's unsettling. It's _wrong_.

Leva dives under the surface, fleeing the sight of the poor human being. She doesn't care if anyone sees the waves; if the girl on the shore sees her going. She let's herself go down to the Stygian depths of the lake where she feels calmer; where the seaweeds sway soothingly and curl around her. It's slowly calming her down. She keeps her arms wrapped around her sleek torso. The water feels a lot colder than before.

She runs one hand over her clammy cheek. Is she crying, too? She can't tell. Her skin is always wet so she isn't able to tell the difference. The water around her face tastes like salty like the sea. The Giant Squid swims to Leva and bumps her tail, demanding affection. Leva smiles weakly at the friendly sea creature.

"It's okay," Leva murmurs in Mermish, softly patting the Squids mantle. "I'm okay. Just..."

 _Shh... listen don't you hear_

 _I'm crying but they are silent tears_

 _I'm crying on the inside so you can't see_

 _all the pain running though me_

 _I cry for you I cry for me_

 _I cry for the times I can't_

 _so if you listen you may hear my silent tears_

"...crying, I guess."


	35. Love is in the Day's Eye

Name: Love is in the Day's Eye

Summary: Scorpius is studying for his exams. James has a surprise for him. Somehow there are flowers, lots of flowers. / / Post Next-Gen Hogwarts. James/Scorpius.

Season/Round: S4R5 — The Mystery Boxes

Score: 3.5/10

A/N: The story name is a mix of phrases 'love is in the air' and 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder', and the word 'daisy'. One of my worst rounds ever.

Beta: Erbkaiser

Characters: James S. Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Astoria Malfoy.

Round prompt: TEAM BOX: Muggle. You must choose to write either the scenario prompt, quote prompt or head!canon prompt. Choose carefully though, as your fellow chasers must write the other two. I chose to use the quote prompt: 'I love magic!'

OPTIONAL PROMPTS:

1\. (quote) 'Let's face it; this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing.' - Tony Stark, _Iron Man_

7\. (image) daisy chain

15\. (word count) 1,000 (without A/N and other info)

* * *

When Scorpius wakes up, something feels oddly out of place. No, it has nothing to do with him falling asleep in his father's study room after studying for his exams until wee hours, waking up with a crick in the neck because tables are not made for sleeping, and having a piece of paper stuck on his cheek. Had he forgotten something? No, that's out of the question.

Scorpius puts his study materials away, deciding to get a cup of tea and maybe a sandwich, too, and — after catching a quick whiff — some clean clothes before returning to his studies. Muggles make everything more complicated, Scorpius thinks. His parents had pulled many strings with Hogwarts and the Ministry to get him a proper school certificate, since outside of the magical world nobody really cares about O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. The entrance exams for the university he wants to get into are only a week away, and Scorpius has been spending almost all his free time with books.

Scorpius's mother sits on the alcove, concentrating on embroidering a bonnet for Daphne's daughter, when Scorpius finds her. "Good morning, sweetheart," she says with a smile, and stands up to greet her son. Her smile wavers when she sees the tiredness on her son's face. "Oh, have you seen your eyes, sweetie? How long did you study last night? Did you get any sleep at all?"

"Morning, Mom," Scorpius yawns loudly. "I'm not sure. 'Till three?"

"You should sleep more," Astoria says, but Scorpius shrugs her off.

He takes a sip of tea he had retrieved a moment earlier. Plain Earl Grey, he duly notes. How unsurprising. He moves to sit with his mother for awhile before returning to his books, when a glimpse of red outside almost makes him choke on his tea. "Mom?" he splutters, still recovering from almost choking. "What is James's motorbike doing outside?"

"Oh, James has been here the whole morning," Astoria replies, eyes on the bonnet. "I think he must be in your room."

* * *

James's surprises are usually not a good thing. They, more often than not, involve some sort of experimental magic, and no matter how much Scorpius loves magic (and James) the surprises are known to take years off his lifespan. Even after dating the self-proclaimed 'Greatest prankster Hogwarts has seen since the nineties' for almost three and a half years, he has to mentally prepare himself for opening the door to his own room.

He opens the door, but nothing happens. He hasn't triggered a series of unfortunate events, there are no explosives from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes blowing up on his face, and no one is yelling "Effingo formaggio!" at him. He hates that particular spell. It made him smell like cheese for almost a week.

Instead, there are flowers. Hundreds and thousands of summer flowers opening and closing and twinkling, like little stars all over and around his room. Scorpius stares at the blaze of colours in awe. It's a wondrous sight. This, he thinks, is what magic is truly for. To create something beautiful.

In the middle of the room sits James, chanting charms and making new flowers appear. Multicoloured flowers grow from between the floorboards and window sills and closet doors. James stands up. There is a flower crown made of daisies in his red hair, and several flower bracelets dangle from his neck and both of his wrists.

James grins. "Let's face it: this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing."

"No, it's definitely not," Scorpius squawks, unable to stop smiling. "But why on Earth is my room full of flowers?"

"Do you know how hard it is to charm roses?" James asks instead of answering Scorpius's question. He twirls his wand. "Because it's really, really hard. How well do you know the Norse gods, Scorp?" James's smile is as wide as ever. "Not well, I presume?"

"Have you been watching those awful superhero movies again, James?" Scorpius asks suspiciously. "Because if this is some elaborate plan to make me binge-watch all three _Thor_ movies with you again-"

James barks a laugh. "As a matter of fact, I have been watching 'those awful superhero movies', as you so nicely put it," he chuckles, "but this has nothing to with my fascination for men in skin-tight clothing." James wiggles his eyebrows. Scorpius hums in amusement.

"Please, continue."

"I love you, Scorpius."

Scorpius's train of thought stops. "...what?"

"Daisy," James starts, removing one white flower from his hair, "is the sacred symbol of the Norse goddess Freya. She's the goddess of love. And I know this is probably way too soon and your dad still doesn't exactly like me..." James swishes his wand, transfiguring the daisy into a small ring. "But would you give me a proper chance?"

"Are you...?"

"Yeah, I am," James says softly, offering the ring. "I'm proposing to you, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. Will you marry me? Like, someday in the future? Or right now, if you'd prefer that."

Scorpius stares blankly at the daisy ring in James's hands before he, very bluntly, says the first thing that comes to his mind: "You're an idiot."

James nods very seriously. "I know. Quite charming, as well."

And there, surrounded by hundreds of flowers, Scorpius says out loud those magical little words. The words he never thought he would be able to say, because James Potter deserves so much more. The daisy ring shining on Scorpius's ring finger tells James's side of the story. A story of dozens and dozens of hours of trying to learn the spell to make a ring perfect enough for someone James finds more precious than anyone.

"Yeah, I'd love to marry you."

And the greatest magic is love. Though, spells to create rings can come quite handy, too.


	36. Brother's Virtue

Name: Brother's Virtue

Summary: Six times Rodolphus forgives Rabastan, and one time he finally forgives himself.

Season/Round: S4R6 — Deadly Sins & Heavenly Virtues

Score: 7.5/10

A/N: During this current season, this has been my favourite round so far. Last year our team wrote about the Seven Deadly Sins for the Daily Prophet competition (our story is called _Seven Deadly Sins of the Marauder Era_ , go check it out), so this year I decided to write about a virtue instead. I've actually written about Rodolphus and Rabastan earlier during the QL (Season 2, round 8) and because I like the Lestrange brothers, I decided to write about them once more.

Beta: Erbkaiser and HP Slash Luv

Characters: Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, others.

Round prompt: CHASER 3: Write about a light character committing the sin of WRATH or a **dark character** demonstrating the virtue of **FORGIVENESS.**

OPTIONAL PROMPTS:

3\. (word) favour

7\. (song) 'Unconditionally' by Katy Perry

8\. (word) lightning

* * *

 _Come just as you are to me_

 _Don't need apologies_

 _Know that you are unworthy_

 _I'll take your bad days with your good_

 _Walk through this storm I would_

 _I'd do it all because I love you, I love you_

* * *

 _"RABASTAN!"_

Rodolphus's pained voice drowns in the sounds around him. The battle doesn't stop, but Rodolphus can almost feel the earth quaking when the familiar body falls to the floor of the once familiar Great Hall. He can almost hear it, as if all the cries of the battle are just muffled noise on the background. He bolts, countering the spells flying his way as he runs. And as he runs he hopes he's wrong, but the twinge in his black heart is getting worse.

It wasn't even a Killing Curse that hit him, he tries to reassure himself. It was just a Stupefy, just a simple stunning spell. It takes more than that to take his brother out, Rodolphus thinks. He casts a curse, taking out a student duelling Dolohov, before he reaches his brother's body. He kneels down, eyes and hands searching for signs of life, but there's nothing. No pulse, no movements. Rabastan's wand lies a few feet from him. Rodolphus holds his brother close, his hand supporting Rabastan's head because his neck doesn't any more. Rodolphus keeps his eyes firmly shut. He doesn't want to see. He doesn't want it to sink in. He doesn't want Rabastan to be dead.

* * *

Young Rodolphus sneaks into the nursery, carefully closing the door behind. Mother almost never leaves the room any more to spend time with Rodolphus. She doesn't read to him or play with him outside like she used to. She doesn't tuck him in at night or eat breakfast with him in the morning. She barely even acknowledges him anymore. It's like he doesn't even exist to her. But Mother isn't there now and neither is Father. They're having tea with Mr and Mrs Black and that always takes hours. Rodolphus tiptoes to the cot.

He glares at the small bundle and he feels unspeakable anger. He never asked for a brother. He should have been enough for his parents. It's all the baby's fault that no one has time for him. What makes the baby more important than him anyway? Rabastan sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware of Rodolphus's thoughts.

But when Rodolphus accidentally bumps the cot, Rabastan stirs and makes a small sound. Rodolphus looks around frantically when the baby opens it's eyes. It's going to cry, Rodolphus thinks in panic. It's going to cry and Mother will be mad. But against Rodolphus's expectations, Rabastan doesn't start crying. He just stares at Rodolphus, big brown eyes full of wonder.

"Um, hi?" Rodolphus tries awkwardly, waving at his little brother. Rodolphus lets out a small delighted sound that resembles a mix of a snort and a giggle. He flails his tiny arms, stretching them towards Rodolphus. Rabastan gurgles loudly, and Rodolphus hesitantly reaches over the cot's edge. Rabastan grips his finger tightly, making happy noises.

"Okay, then," Rodolphus mumbles, a weird warmth spreading in his chest. "I guess we'll get along."

* * *

The summer holiday ends in a week and Rodolphus has turned his room upside down in an attempt to pack for yet another year at Hogwarts.

"I swear I left it here," he groans, running his hand through his hair in distress. His wand has gone missing, and while he hasn't needed it in almost three months, he's going to need it now. Everything else, save for the new books for his fourth year, is neatly packed in his trunk but the damned wand. Rodolphus curses, slamming his fist on the table surface.

There's a knock on the door. "Yes?" Rodolphus snaps, immediately regretting it.

Rabastan flinches at his brother's tone. "I can come later," he mumbles, already turning away.

"Come in, Bas," Rodolphus says, his voice softer. "I just thought you might be Father. Do you need help with something?"

Rabastan hesitantly steps over threshold to his brother's room. He shakes his head, nervously twiddling the hem of his shirt. Rodolphus shrugs his brother's nervousness off. He doesn't want to push; Rabastan will tell him when he's ready, if he ever is. Maybe it's nothing else but his first year anxiousness. Rodolphus remembers he how suffered from the same thing.

"I can't find my wand," Rodolphus complains instead. "I'm sure I left it on the nightstand, but—"

"I'm so sorry," Rabastan says, quietly interrupting his brother. Rodolphus cocks his brow when Rabastan digs something from his pocket. "I didn't mean to break it." In his hands is Rodolphus's pine wand, or rather, the remains of it. It has broken into three splinters which Rabastan looks at in regret. "I shouldn't have taken it."

"No. No, it's okay," Rodolphus says, pulling Rabastan into an embrace before the sobbing starts. "I forgive you. It was an accident, right?"

Rabastan sniffs into the front of Rodolphus's shirt, eyes brimming with tears. "I- I just wanted to try it... I never thought it would break like that."

"Just between the two us," Rodolphus whispers, gently stroking Rabastan's auburn locks, "it never really worked that well with me because it was Father's old one. We can get us both wands from Ollivanders. Sounds good, huh?"

Rabastan smiles a little, drying the remains of his tears away. "Sounds good."

* * *

Rodolphus grins, lips almost touching Leslie Summers's ear as he whispers sweet nothings, and draws lazily circles on the girl's soft skin. Thanks to months of planning ahead, the dorm room is for once empty. The rest of the seventh year Slytherin boys are either partying at Hogsmeade, or having their own conquests elsewhere. Or they have simply been blackmailed into sleeping in the Common Room. Rodolphus would admit that in a heartbeat if anyone had the nerve to ask him.

"Do you hear that?" Leslie murmurs, stroking Rodolphus's chest. "It's raining."

Rodolphus hums in agreement as a flash of lightning lights up the room through the mass of water. "It's going to be one hell of a storm. I don't envy the guys at Hogsmeade."

That's when Rabastan — thirteen years at the time, but being rebellious and having a reputation to fill had sneaked out to Hogsmeade with older students to get drunk — stumbles into the room, soaking wet and barely standing straight. Leslie squeaks and hastily covers herself, glaring angrily at the younger Slytherin. She elbows Rodolphus. He glances at the girl, rolls his eyes, and sits up.

"Bas? Are you drunk?" he asks slowly, even though he already knows the answer.

"Yeah," Rabastan says. His smile is sloppy, not reaching his eyes. Rodolphus's brow furrows. This is not just about being drunk. Something must be wrong.

"Sorry, Leslie, I think you'd better go," Rodolphus says, not even facing the girl. She stares at him, dumbfounded, but realizing that Rodolphus won't be telling her he was just joking, she huffs, gets off the bed and collects her clothes from the floor. She slams the door behind. Rodolphus pats the bed.

"Come here, Bas," he says. "Want to tell me what's wrong?"

Rabastan's lower lip wobbles. "It's nothing, really," he whispers, taking off his wet jacket. "I just had an argument with... It doesn't matter." He stays quiet for a few minutes. "I'm sorry," he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He leans forward, elbows digging on his knees. "I'm so sorry I ruined your night with Summers."

Rodolphus offers his brother a faint smile. "It's fine," he says, putting his hand on Rabastan's shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "She wasn't worth my time anyway."

* * *

"How _dare_ you?!" Rabastan shouts, firing a spell at his brother. The flash hits Rodolphus on the chest, making him fly backwards and land painfully on their home yard. His wand is still in his pocket, and he has no intention of raising it against Rabastan. "Get your wand and fight like a man!" Rabastan continues.

"No," Rodolphus groans. He tries to get up but another spell makes him fall back on his knees. "I won't... fight you. But Bas, please, let me explain," he wheezes, holding his chest. The burning sensation in his lungs doesn't go away.

"What is there to explain?!" Rabastan cries out. "You slept with Honoria, Dolph! With my _betrothed_!" He pauses, face twisting in bitterness and pain, before casting the curse Rodolphus hoped his brother would not use. "CRUCIO!"

Rodolphus's whole body convulses on the ground, the pain being worse than fire and thousand needles going through his veins. He wants to say he was doing his brother a favour when he got involved with Honoria Greengrass to break them apart. That is the truth, not that Rabastan will believe it, even if Rodolphus ever gets to tell him that. After all, Honoria was, and is, everything but an honorable woman.

The pain lessens when Rabastan lifts the curse.

"Get out of my life," the younger Lestrange brother spits out like the words were venom burning his tongue. Rodolphus can't see him apparate away, but he knows Rabastan will be long gone before he can get another chance to open his mouth. Rodolphus pants, unable to breathe evenly or move a muscle to get up. He feels hard and heavy, dirt of the yard smearing his clothes and small rocks pressing into his skin. He understands his brother's anger and he can live with it for now.

It is his own fault anyway. Forgiving his brother for not wanting to hear his reasons is the least he can do. He just hopes Rabastan will someday forgive him, too.

* * *

Rodolphus walks back and forth in the Rowle Manor's sitting room. His Death Eater mask itches his skin, and his robes feel too baggy for his liking, even though all his garments are brand new. The discomfort he feels is just in his head, and he knows it. Half a dozen other Death Eaters are seated around the room

He told Rabastan to stay behind, to not get tattoo'd, to not join yet. He was still just eighteen, barely an adult even by wizarding standards. Rabastan wasn't the only one too young, Rodolphus thinks, listening how Bellatrix cackles manically when the screams start echoing in the room next door. Regulus Black, Barty Crouch Jr., and couple others all graduated within the last three years. They are children.

Not that the Dark Lord cares. Rodolphus shouldn't care either. They've all made the choice. So he forgives Rabastan for ignoring his advice and for making the choice too soon. Now they are in this together, but maybe it's for the best.

* * *

The battle of Hogwarts is over. The Dark Lord lays on the floor in a defeated heap. He's dead. So is Bellatrix, but Rodolphus doesn't mourn for his wife.

We _lost_ , Bas, Rodolphus tells silently to his brother. Throughout the battle, he had stayed protectively over Rabastan's body, fighting in turns against students and Aurors, firing curse after curse in a heated frenzy. He even puts up a fight when the remaining Death Eaters are rounded up to be sent back to Azkaban.

When he's pushed in his cell on that blasted island, Rodolphus wants to hate Rabastan for leaving him behind. Rodolphus is stripped of his wand and his pride. He has nothing, everyone and everything he cares about is gone.

But he can't hate Rabastan for dying on him. They are brothers, and whatever Rabastan does, Rodolphus will always forgive him.

* * *

Rodolphus smiles his mad, lopsided grin from the corner where he spends his days sitting. He knows every tile and every mold covered surface of his dark, musty cell. He hears voices in his head. Sometimes it's Bella he hears, sometimes it's Bas. Sometimes he hears the shrill cries of people he's tortured over the years. He has learnt to live with them.

He is a survivor, and he's allowed to forgive himself, too.

* * *

 _There is no fear now_  
 _Let go and just be free_  
 _I will love you unconditionally_


	37. For the Night is Ours to be Us

Name: For the Night is Ours to be Us

Summary: Ted and Andromeda sneak out of the castle at night, because that's when there's no one telling them they shouldn't be together. / Marauder Era, Ted/Andromeda

Season/Round: S4R7 — Pairing Palooza

Score: 9.25/10

A/N: Ted and Andromeda, as minor as they are, have been one of my favourite canon ships since I read the books for the first time. This was one of my favourite rounds during Season 4 and I had lots of help from my sister during this round (she was a wonderful plot bunny) but I don't think I would've made it without her. I also wrote a sequel for this during round 9.

Beta: Erbkaiser and HP Slash Luv

Characters: Ted Tonks, Andromeda Black.

Round prompt: Write about one of the eight nautical Harry Potter ship names chosen by the team's Seeker. I chose H.M.S. Blood Traitor, also known as Ted/Andromeda.

OPTIONAL PROMPTS:

9\. (dialogue) "You're crazy!"/ / "Were you ever under the impression that I was normal?"

12\. (word) mist

15\. (word) scarf

* * *

Hasty footsteps echoed in the corridors of Hogwarts when two students sneaked out of the castle in the middle of the night...

* * *

"Lumos," Ted whispered. In the light of the wand he was able to see Andromeda more clearly. Her features were tense, but her eyes twinkled with a hint of a smile.

"What if we get caught?" she asked in a barely audible whisper.

Ted pulled her into an embrace, smiling into Andromeda's hair. "If we get caught, then we're in trouble," he chuckled playfully. "Exciting, isn't it?" he asked.

"Come on, Ted," Andromeda whined, pulling away, but let Ted keep holding her hand. "Be serious for once."

She pouted a little—a truly adorable sight, Ted thought. The water's surface reflected the light of his wand, but otherwise the Black Lake was living up to its name. It seemed even darker when there were no stars lighting up the night sky. The pale veil of mist shrouded the lake and not even the Giant Squid bothered the night's peace. Ted didn't let go of Andromeda when he sat down.

Andromeda followed his example, sitting down next to the water's edge. She looked up at the sky. "It's so dreary out here," she whispered.

Ted watched Andromeda with admiration. Her full lips were slightly open and her warm brown eyes observed the world around underneath thick eyelashes, dark brown hair falling down her back in soft curls. Ted brushed a tress of her hair away from Andromeda's face; she leaned to his touch, a little unsure at first, but seemed to relax after a while.

"Yeah," Ted swallowed, his heart fluttering. Andromeda looked at him with a sweet, innocent smile playing on her lips. Ted grinned widely, revealing a line of white teeth, straightened with Muggle methods. Andromeda, shy at heart, very rarely made the first move herself, so Ted, knowing that very well, always approached her first. Andromeda knew she would lose her entire family if they ever found out about her and Ted Tonks. Ted didn't need to worry about such things.

"Ted, isn't the light a little risky?" Andromeda asked quietly, glancing at the castle.

"I just wanted to see your face," Ted said honestly, dipping the tip of the wand in the water in a whim. The lakeside became darker once more, the wand's light being barely visible underneath the rippling surface.

Ted didn't see how Andromeda's cheeks turned pink. "What on earth are you doing, Ted?" she asked with laughter in her voice as she watched the wand in amusement.

"I have no idea," Ted said, moving the wand in the water and making the water glow with bright light.

"You're crazy," Andromeda whispered fondly, her smile radiating happiness.

Ted chuckled. "Were you ever under the impression that I was normal?"

"No, I wasn't," Andromeda said with a smile. Ted's craziness was one of the things Andromeda loved the most about him. "It's so beautiful," she said, looking at the twirls of light in the water.

Ted kept his eyes on the wand for a moment longer than necessary before he turned to Andromeda. He was about to say something but his train of thought was cut short when Andromeda pressed her soft lips against Ted's own, chapped ones. Ted responded to the sweet kiss, whatever he was about to say long forgotten. He let go of his wand and it slowly started to sink towards the bottom of the lake. Ted raised his wand hand to Andromeda's cheek; Andromeda's hands instead were both on Ted's hair, running her thin fingers through the short locks of the boy. When the kiss finally ended, neither of them wanted to part. Their foreheads almost touched, breaths mingling together.

"Andricy?" Ted said, using the nickname he had given to Andromeda.

"What is it?" Andromeda asked.

"Do you have your wand with you?"

Andromeda pushed her into her pocket of her robe. "I don't think I do? Why?"

"Well, it looks like mine just fell into the lake," Ted said calmly.

Andromeda's eyes widened in horror and she began searching the insides of her pocket again, even though she had already claimed it empty. "Oh no," she squeaked in panic. "Oh no, oh no, oh no," she repeated.

"It's all right," Ted said, rubbing Andromeda's shoulder reassuringly. "I have time to fetch it before the first class tomorrow. I'll just borrow Lebron's and—" Andromeda interrupted him with a relieved sigh.

"No need to, I had just put it in a different pocket than usual," Andromeda said, pulling the maple wand out of her pocket. "Accio wand!" she said firmly, pointing her wand towards the lake. In a moment, Ted's wand flew from the bottom of the lake. Ted caught it easily—the light had turned off a long ago—and put it in his pocket.

"Thank you," he said to Andromeda, straightening her green and silver Slytherin scarf. "What would I ever do without you?" Andromeda said nothing to that. "Should we go back?" Ted asked, taking Andromeda's hand and lacing their fingers together.

"I guess so," Andromeda whispered wistfully.

* * *

"He's looking at you again," Bellatrix hissed in the morning, stabbing her sunny side up eggs with a fork. "The Mudblood," she continued when Andromeda ignored her. "I don't like the way he's looking at you."

"Just pay him no attention, Bella," Andromeda said nonchalantly, trying to keep her eyes on her plate but not succeeding at it. She glanced at Ted who was sitting a table away. He was indeed looking at where the Black sisters were sitting.

"I don't like him looking at you like that," Bellatrix repeated with more determination.

"Well, maybe you should stop staring at him or else people will start thinking you like him," Andromeda said, raising a brow and sneering at her sister. Bellatrix tsked, returning to her eggs and bacon and muttering something about filthy Mudbloods.

Andromeda smiled at Ted, the other returning her smile. Maybe someday they could be together in public without people like her family looking down at them, but until then they would have all the nights at the Black Lake to themselves.


End file.
